


disgrace | drarry

by Draythegay



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Bottom Harry Potter, Drarry, Fluff and Angst, Gryffindor, M/M, Slow Burn, Slytherin, Top Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 35,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26534431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draythegay/pseuds/Draythegay
Summary: Draco was convinced, watching his mother leave without a last glance, that there was no more love for him, as his last trace of love slipped through the cracks of his fingers.Harry discerned the dolent boy, seeing the wilted look on his face refusing to leave, and suddenly it was all he wanted to do, to offer him a hand of help and pull him out of that mystery of a whirlpool he was drowning in. But it was never an easy task, getting the proud slytherin to let down his guard, but it was fight he was beyond willing to take.TW: self harm (and mention of self harm), violence, mature themes.↦drarry au.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 19
Kudos: 84





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> ❝ following the recent events between his parents, draco goes awfully quiet, which seems to concern everyone, everyone especially harry, but reaching out to draco malfoy was never easy ❞
> 
> drarry au.  
> STARTED: 1st sept.  
> FINISHED:  
> STATUS: ongoing  
> WARNINGS: stated before chapters  
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters or their descriptions, original work of Harry Potter by she who must not be named. I only own the concept of the fanfiction. And in no way am I allowing any part of it to be transferred without permission.
> 
> available on tumblr and wattpad.

Big empty space it was, the manor. A word that's said echoes and returns as multiple weaker versions of itself, yet it never leaves. And there he sat, Draco, with the company of nothing but still air, staring at the nothingness deep within the house. He might have been bouncing his knee, but he didn't feel it; his mind was too busy trying to find a way out, a way through which he didn't have to hear them.

Inside the room to his right, he could hear their voices, muffled by the walls, yet loud enough for him to make out every word, and he could sense the difference this time. It had been going on for days now, perhaps weeks, and almost every day he could hear them, yelling and then talking, harsh words at times. However, this time it was a lot more fueled, in a way that scared him a lot more than he'd like to admit.

"I want you out of my house, Narcissa. You do not deserve to be here anymore." He heard his father's voice slowly lowering out of tiredness, and then there was pause. The whole place fell into a state of silence that almost felt peaceful.

"Leave!" It was a moment before his father's voice had a spike one more time, like a roar it sounded that it startled him. Then a moment after, he could hear his mother, sounding like wounded animal, but he couldn't quite figure out her words.

And before he could realize it, the door being slammed shut like thunder snapped him out of his head. And his mother's figure appeared, following the slamming door by the voice of her heels clicking against the marble floor. Two clicks per second, up in his head he started counting his mother's steps, trying to figure out how many seconds it took her to reach her destination, which soon appeared to be his parents' shared bedroom, out of despair to mute his thoughts of fear and confusion.

She, however, didn't seem to notice her son, who was staring at her like a terrified infant, hoping to get answers. She passed by him as though he was a mere object of the household. Which, to admit it, was how they both treated him through the last few days, like he was a still item, as though he had no say. Deep inside him, he was grateful they were too blinded by their problems they hardly remember his existence, for he knew, they would most likely shower him with their anger for each other if they paid attention to him.

His father came out a while after, seemingly for a breath of air, but once he did the air got thicker. His father, unlike his mother, seemed to noticed his figure at the end of the hall, but he wished he didn't. He glared at him, his eyes suddenly so sharp, as if the sight of his son was a disaster in itself, it felt like a warning of a kind. Draco wanted to disappear.

His mother came out again shortly after, loaded with two suitcases. He began to understand how the world was revolving around him, yet still he couldn't figure out what led to this.

"Mother..." He rose from his seat slowly. His mouth felt dry, too dry to let his words out. It didn't catch his mother's attention as she kept making her way towards the front door, most likely on purpose.

"Mother, what's happening?" He walked up to her in a bit of a slow pace. His mother finally turned to face him, but she didn't say a word. Looking at her, his insides were burning with the desire to cry, the desire he put so much effort into burying. He felt like exploding.

"Draco, love," She gently ran her finger across his cheek when he was close enough, he closed his eyes, his final attempt to shut in his tears. "It will all be just fine, trust me." She slowly wiped away the tear he couldn't keep to himself, and smiled slightly when he opened his eyes.

"Where are you going, mother?" By that moment, he lost his desire to keep his guard up, he lost his willingness to be as strong as he could. So he let his tears stream down his face like two thin rivers, his words coming out like fragile glass.

"I will write to you all the time, all the time, and I will love you for as long as I live." She pulled him into her arms, resting his head on her shoulder. Still refusing to answer. She could hear his quiet sobs getting louder, slowly carrying out his pain.

The next thing he felt, after the warmth of his mother's embrace, was the stiff wood of his father's cane separating the two of them, slightly pressing against his ribs.

"Let go of my son, Narcissa. He does not deserve to be touched by a disgrace like yourself." His father pushed him back rather robustly that he almost fell off his feet. And in that moment his eyes fixed themselves on his father and refused to look at anything except him, looking at him with somewhat of a shock, somewhat of a fear, but mostly anger. He wanted an explanation, he _deserved_ an explanation, but yet he didn't get any.

"You see, Draco, your mother was foolish enough to fall in love with some filthy mudblood. Not only dared betray me, but also, go to something so nasty for herself. And as such, from this moment forth, you're ought to feel no love for her anymore, as she didn't have any for you." His father spoke as though he could read through his mind while walking away slowly, never did he hear his father sounding so cold like a stone.

He looked at his mother, with something far from hatred or disgust, but rather with pain, and she could read through his eyes that he didn't care one bit for any of what his father said, if he believed any of it at all. She looked back at him, her eyes soft and glistening like dying stars. Tears were pooling through her eyes, making it hard for him to read her emotions through them, but if he could find one thing through her eyes, it would be the love she looked at him with, the love his father claimed nonexistent. He wished to scream at the top of his lungs.

Then in the matter of minutes, she started walking away, forced, dragging her feet out. He watched her in utter silence, but lord knows he was nothing but chaos inside of him. And then she was gone, the door shut behind her like she never existed in the first place.

"I hate you father!" If he felt any despise regarding that situation, it would definitely be for his father. He couldn't stand the sight of him, as he took away the only person that loved, so easily, for what felt like the most stupid of reasons. And with that statement, he walked away with huge steps, heading up to his room. And after him he could hear his father yelling at him to behave himself, but he didn't care.


	2. one

"I told her I didn't want to do potions, but she doesn't care! I just hate the way Snape looks at me all the time!" Harry's complains seemed to be endless to Ron who, quite frankly, didn't bother to care as they made their way through and past heaps of students filling the school. Ron sighed, he didn't know what he had to offer Harry as a response, but lucky him, Harry didn't really seem to be waiting for a response.

"Oh and by the way, she said to take you with me, because you _seem too happy_." He added, and in that very moment Ron wished he kept complaining rather than carry that news to him, and it felt as if every book related to potions had fallen on his back out of nowhere.

"Bloody hell! Was I meant to not look happy?" He asked, not Harry but rather himself, and he let out another sigh of tiredness, as though he was already tired from the term that had yet to come.

Harry's upper arm was suddenly and quite firmly grabbed in a manner that startled him, as though Ron was trying to channel his attention to a certain thing, which left Harry is a state of confusion. And to get more attention out of him, Ron pulled on his arm, which felt like a bit of a shake. Looking at Ron, who seemed both concerned and shocked, he couldn't quite figure out what Ron was too desperate to get his attention to.

"Harry, look, isn't that Lucius Malfoy?" He pointed at a figure among the crowd. As Harry looked straight at the figure, it wasn't hard to recognize who it was. He could ever so easily mark those pale blonde strands of hair, long enough to cover almost his entire back. And even though Lucuis was giving him his back, he could still recognize his costly black cloak swallowing him whole.

"Yes, it's him all right. But what is he doing here?" Harry questioned without lifting his gaze off the black covered man. His question felt more directed to himself than to Ron who seemed to be focusing his whole attention on the man as well. But to admit it, he didn't exactly care about Lucius or his business in the school, it was the person he hoped to see with him that he cared about most. He hated the idea itself.

"No idea, but hopefully no trouble with the ministry. We've had enough of those." Ron's words went almost unheard, as both of them were too distracted by Malfoy they forgot each other.

"He's been reckless, but he's all set and back to his senses now." A few words drifted from his conversation with Dumbledore and into Harry's ears. His voice was so stern and somewhat cold, it felt like chains. He liked to feel he knew who they were talking about. As he passed by them, he and Dumbledore went silent, their conversation reached a temporary end it seemed. And by that moment, he wasn't the only one unable to look away, all of them - all three of them - were eyeing him as though he was a mysterious being, yet to be discovered, with some hints of undeniable annoyance.

It was a matter of fact that he didn't focus on all three of them, not all of them were his main point of interest. His eyes uncontrollably met the grayish blue eyes of Draco's, which looked right back into Harry's bright green pair of eyes, and in that very moment the world felt like it was moving noticeably slow. He hated that weird feeling of relief that overwhelmed when he saw Draco standing next to his father, dressed in that black suit of his which by now felt very familiar, standing with his hands behind his back as if he was trained to stand in that position. It felt to Harry like he finally found something he'd been looking for for way too long. Draco, however, didn't seem to feel the same. Instead, his eyes still held that sharp gaze he got from his father, his eyes looked like half broken glass.

"Harry!" Ron's voice broke through Harry's thoughts rather aggressively, causing him to fall a harsh fall back into reality, breaking the long maintained eye contact. "What are you looking at?"

"Er, nothing, I'm just trying to get a bit of their conversation." He answered, probably quicker than he was supposed to. He came to notice how far they walk from them, yet he couldn't help but look back. To his disappointment, or relief, Draco was looking down at his feet, no longer interested.

"Well that's not the best thing to do, is it? Besides, we better hurry up before professor McGonagall transfigures us to some pocket watches." There wasn't a nice way for Harry to tell Ron that he didn't care one bit about transfiguration, not at this time. Yet still he walked with him, heading to their meant class, drowning in silence now.

____________

"Oh, Mr. Malfoy, what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you today to?" Dumbledore greeted cheerfully as he watched Draco and his father walking up to him. Deep inside, all three of them knew Dumbledore wasn't the happiest to see him, as seeing Lucuis meant trouble to him most of the time.

"Dumbledore, I'd like you to do me a little favor. You see, Draco here, he's been reckless, but he's all set and back to his senses now." Lucuis patted Draco on the shoulder, not in the encouraging father manner you'd expect. It was more of a warning, or a signal to Draco to behave as he's meant to, do exactly as his father thinks he should. Dumbledore on the other hand, he seemed to be listening very carefully, studying Draco for any silent words, occasionally nodding at his father's statement.

Then none of them said a single word, as if all of them were silenced by some sort of an invisible force. They all stared blankly at Harry's passing figure, as if he specifically was not meant to hear a word of what they said. Draco couldn't help but fix his gaze on him, as everyone did, and he didn't know what to feel. He wanted him away, to vanish because the very sight of him, his messy appearance and bright eyes, was filling with with unnecessary annoyance, he couldn't put his finger on why exactly it was bothering him so much. Yet on the other hand, he was almost too scared Harry could tell what was going on in his life, and that he'll use it against him, but for the first time in almost two weeks, he felt noticed, he felt his being and it felt good. A lot of feelings were aroused within him, yet still he kept his eyes looking through Harry's as if there was nothing else to look at. And he watched as that red headed Weasley grabbed him away, not knowing where to feel grateful or upset.

"He had had some issues, which led him to stupidly believing that this rebellious behavior would get him somewhere." His father proceeded once the boy was out of sight, like nothing had ever happened. His father's statement filled him with the same sensation of rage he felt in that moment when his mother walked away from him.

"His absence was quite unusual, but we'd be pleased to welcome Mr. Malfoy into the school again." Dumbledore replied, and it wasn't like he could say anything regarding that other than what his father pleased, it was weird how his voice tone almost never changes. Not when his faking, not when he's being real, not when he's pleased, not when he's sad, if it ever did, Draco wasn't the one to notice it.

"Thank you, professor Dumbledore. I sure hope that you would be kind enough to teach him the wrongs and rights, a bit of detention will do." He couldn't help but look at his father with utter confusion, he wanted to scream as loud as his voice could go and punch a wall as though he was mad, he just needed a way to let everything flow out of him and attacking his father seemed just right to him.

"But father-" His attempt to speak in self defense wasn't quite successful as his father cut him mid sentence, there was not a single thing he could do or even say.

"Silence, Draco!" He said so sternly his voice actually felt like a bar of iron. His fingers clutched around the silver snake on the top of his cane as he looked him right in the eye, a sort of a threat he usually used, and it was enough to shut Draco up completely. Though he couldn't help his breaths that became heard. He felt hot like it was mid July, and he couldn't breathe, his body was enduring the pain that came with suppressed anger. He felt like collapsing.

"Well alright, Mr. Malfoy, there's nothing to worry about. I will make sure to find something to satisfy everyone of us. Now, Draco, follow me, you will be late to class." Never did Draco think he would ever be thankful for Dumbledore's existence. He could feel the old wrinkled hand rest on his shoulder, walking him away from his father who stood still behind them, watching them go.


	3. Two

Harry's head was turned towards the door rather violently as someone stormed in furiously, catching not only Harry's attention but everyone else's. At first glance, he saw Draco standing tall at the door momentarily, and it felt to him as though the blonde boy was staring right at him and specifically him. But Harry knew for a fact he wasn't.

He stood there, doing nothing for a moment. Professor McGonagall stared at him, seeking an explanation for his _irresponsible behavior,_ but he said nothing as his eyes scanned the whole place, running over every face. He was now dressed neatly in his school robe, his fine black suit was gone. He was breathless, perhaps from running through the school's vast hallways on his way to get here.

He walked to a seat at the far end of the class, which left Harry wondering why he decided against sitting with his unbearable friends for the first time. Everyone seemed to watch him with dropped jaws. Some were looking at him with disapproval, some were surprised to see him, and some just wanted any sort of distraction from that seemingly forever lasting class.

"Mr. Malfoy, would you please care to explain why do I see you here just now when class had started half an hour ago?" McGonagall spoke, seeming so invested in every word she said as though seeing Malfoy late had managed to offend her in a way.

"I just got here." He replied without bothering to look in her direction. He was already starting to get annoyed by his presence at school, wishing he could go back to being locked alone in his room.

"Well, care to explain your absence for the past week?" She asked again. Harry was listening very closely to their conversation, hoping that Draco will give a fulfilling answer not only to McGonagall's question but also to his curious mind, as he was dying to know the mystery behind Draco's disappearance.

"I don't really care to explain, professor." He answered rather bluntly, shattering Harry's high built hopes of getting an answer. McGonagall's eyes widened, filled with what seemed like anger towards the statement she found disrespectful, yet she kept herself together, without saying a word.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, as you have been home for some time, I suppose you had enough time to study. So what's the counter spell for changed color?" She asked again, and her question was met with a loaded sigh from Draco, who declared that he had had it. She, on the other hand, stood still, firmly gripping on her wand as she waited for his answer.

"I don't know, professor. I haven't been studying." He replied once more. By that moment, his voice had gone weary, almost like he had no energy left in him to speak, or, probably, he had had enough wasting his energy on their vain conversation. Harry had noticed, with every word he said, he looked at everything but the woman talking to him, and it felt to him as though he was a trapped animal trying to escape.

"Well in that case, five points from slytherin." She informed her class very calmly before she turned away from them, facing her desk again as a signal that her lesson will go on. It was surprising, how the class remained dead silent even when she gave them that unpleasant news.

Draco couldn't help but look in Harry's direction, he couldn't help but observe his every action, and deep inside him he knew he was scared despite hating to admit it. He was haunted by the thought of Harry having any bit of a clue about what had happened to him, it terrified every bit of him to imagine it, thus he couldn't help but keep a very close eye on him every time he was around since the moment he saw him in the hallway when he was with his father. His eyes held questions, and that terrified him. From his seat at the end of the class, he could see him looking at Hermione who sat next to him, murmuring something Draco wished he knew. He carefully watched the way his lips moved, trying to get close to knowing what he was talking about, but it was a failed attempt. As he couldn't take his eyes off the boy, he would occasionally catch him looking back at him while he talked. Knowing Harry was talking about him, he couldn't help his growing anxiety. He could feel every pair of eyes refusing to leave him alone ever since he walked him, and he could feel himself having a spot in everyone's mind, and for the first time in his whole life, he didn't like it. 

_________________

It was quite the cold night that night, despite it being only early September. Draco lay awake in bed, of all the nights he had spent ever since his mother left, this had to be the hardest yet. For now, not only did he have to have to think of ways to accommodate with the loss of his mother, which had him crying himself to sleep for too many nights, but also now, he had another issue roaming his mind. 

He could feel his excessive paranoid thoughts of Harry Potter find out becoming stupid, and it just bothered him how of all the people he was scared of Potter most. Stuck in his mind was the question of what did her say to that Granger girl earlier, he wished he could ask him, force him to answer without sounding so fucking ridiculously scared. 

The ceiling didn't have much of a view to look at, yet his eyes remained stuck to it, hardly ever blinking as he thought of way too many things at once. Despite trying too hard to erase it, Harry's face from earlier in the hallway was painted in his mind, that weird look he had in his eyes, _different,_ it was. He wasn't looking at him with the usual annoyance as he a " _shut up malfo_ y" escaped through his teeth. He was silently asking way too many questions with his eyes, or none at all, there was no way for Draco to tell for sure, but he knew one thing for certain, Harry wasn't really disturbed by him anymore, and it didn't feel like he would walk away at the sight of him again. Though, he desired for it to go back to how it was, he wished to be able to talk to him and look him in the eye without being so scared of him. 

He finally rolled over, lying on his side, choosing the wall to fix his eyes on. His hands were buried under his pillow. He lost his sharp frown to a softened gaze, as though he was on the verge of tears. He closed his eyes as they got heavy, his eyes felt loaded, and he hated that feeling. He could feel a single tear tracing his cheek, cold when the air of the night hit it. Once he felt like he no longer had the enough strength it took to keep him from crying, he buried his head in the while pillow, letting everything that had ever happened ever since the moment he could feel his mother's finger across his cheek rush back to his mind. 

__________________

She kissed his cheek tenderly while slowly stroking his hair. He could feel her hand that was once on his cheek descending to his back, pulling him in and rubbing his back ever so gently, he could hardly feel it. 

"My boy," he heard her whisper directly in his ear, her voice felt agonizing yet sweet, relieving as it washed away every bad thing off his memory. "My life's delight." 

He wrapped his arms around her back and pulled her in so tightly it could've torn a muscle of his arm. There was no space in between the two of their chest, their bodied were glued together, yet still he couldn't feel her. He tried harder, attempting to draw her even closer just to feel the warmth of her grasp just one more time, yet it felt like her was holding mere air. 

"Mother don't leave." He cried into her neck, repeating it over and over again, begging. He felt despair find a way into him, and every time he did, she repeated that sentence again. She pushed away slightly, resting her right hand on his cheek again, running her thumb across his cheek wiping away the trace left behind by hundreds of tears. She looked at him with a smile, without uttering a word. He wanted her to say something, anything, but her lips only moved in a smile. Her eyes sparkled as she looked at him, like they had a whole galaxy in them. 

"Draco!" The piercing voice came out loud from behind him, causing him to turn back rather fast, letting go of this mother. His eyes were filled with terror as he layed them on his father, who stood tall and stiff like a column, looking at him with hell rising within his eyes. 

"Father, please!" He cried so loud he felt a sharp pain in his throat. His knees felt too week to keep him up, and in any moment he expected to feel his body hitting the floor as he collapsed. 

"Not another word Draco!" His father jerked him by the arm, throwing like a puppet behind him, and using his large arm to block any of Draco's attempts to walk back to his mother. His mother still had that same smile and sparkling eyes, nothing changed, as if she was frozen in time. 

"Father, please!" He shrieked again, even louder this time, he couldn't feel his voice leaving his mouth. His eyes were burning, tinted with deep red, and he could taste the salt of his tear as they didn't seem to reach an end. His body felt nerveless, he could no longer feel his being, almost like his body was drifting away in the air slowly, yet it still hurt. 

Vigorous pain shot through his jaw as he felt his father's fingers spend every last shred of power in them squeezing his jaw, he was too sure his bones would turn to dust if he kept going. His father's brows were knitted together as his eyes were burning through his soul. His teeth were clutched together that he could tell his father's jaw would break as well for how hard he clutched his teeth. 

"Draco, if you don't shut that troublesome mouth of yours, nothing will be alright." He spoke through his teeth, his voice was hardly heard for anyone other than Draco, who seemed to feel the voice right in his ear. As he was done with his sentence, he threw Draco off to the floor. 

He fell down, and suddenly his whole body was aching as if he had stones thrown at every part of him. He felt too hot, he was sure his would start evaporating at any given moment. His breath was taken away from him, as though this whole planet hadn't a single bit of air for him. At that point, he was lying down, bringing his knees up to his chin, and despite crying, he had no tears left in him, his crying was only a series of endless whines. 

"Father, please." He begged one last time under his breath before everything turned black, turned into nothingness. 


	4. Three

Draco opened his eyes to a blurry vision of sunlight coming from the window he assumed was above his bed. His mind still felt too numb to process anything. He couldn't clearly see anything, every sight felt like a fading beam of light. But still he could hear a few words in different voices, sounds felt too heavy for his sleeping mind to analyze, to know who said what. He felt extremely hot, as though his body caught invisible fire, or as though he was left to boil. His back felt drenched, drowning in his own sweat rather, as did almost every other part of his body. And with that unreasonable jump in his body temperature, his head was overwhelmed with the most intense headache he had ever felt, and it was almost like he could hear an endless beep stuck in his head and piercing through his ears. He groaned, proclaiming his half conscious presence with them.

As his vision began clearing up, and he could finally see figures of people and beings, he could see the gray covered figure of Dumbledore, standing at the end of his bed, which he soon realized was the hospital bed, and next to him stood the dark clothed figures of both Snape and McGonagall, all of whom were looking at him with silent concern, while he himself hadn't the faintest clue how he ended up in that bed.

"Oh thank goodness you're well! How do you feel?" McGonagall rushed to him, standing now at the side of the bed, taking his hand and giving it multiple squeezes as if she was trying to check something. He could not believe it was the same woman who insulted him before her whole class yesterday. Was it yesterday? He couldn't tell for sure.

"I don't know. What happened?" He felt as though he hadn't said a single word for ages on end, his tongue lied heavy in his mouth, and words felt buried too deep in his brain that getting them out to be spoken felt like too much work. His muscles felt frozen, or boiled, but in any case, it took numerous whimpers of pain to get his hand up to his face in order to just rub the sleep off them. 

"Well, you woke up - didn't wake up in fact, with unusually severe fever, and we were beyond concerned you might have gotten into coma, Mr. Malfoy." Dumbledore answered the question he forgot he asked right after asking. And yet again, his voice tone still managed to sound the same, but somehow it still showed concern. 

"Yeah right, they thought your brain got cooked." Turning to his right, to where the voice seemed to come from, he saw Goyle, sitting on a stool beside him and laughing at his own stupid statement, the statement that only got him disapproved and annoyed looks from all the three teachers. Goyle and Crabb were the very last couple of people he wanted to see at that moment, anyone but them. That was a thought he regretted thinking of almost immediately. 

As he looked around a little bit more, still trying to get a firm grasp of what was actually happening around, he spotted the person he least expected to see at that time and - though not surely - he least wanted to see. When he looked around a little closely, he could see Harry walking up to the group of people piling up at the end of his bed. He was making his way towards his bed, he thought, and at that very thought, he felt panic rising within him like lava in a volcano. He was too busy thinking about what he was meant to do, he seemed to forget how to breathe.

"What is he doing here?" He jumped, pointing at Harry as he got closer. He hated how obvious it was through his voice that his mind wasn't quite prepared to deal with Harry's presence around him. He tried to sit up straight, but the exhaustion in his muscles didn't allow it.

"Don't flatter yourself Malfoy, I'm not here for you. I need to talk to professor Dumbledore." The other boy spoke with a sigh, his words didn't fail to sound so cold. He was clearly bored, and had other things that were more important than Draco's old I-don't-want-you-around game. To admit it, Draco was a little disappointed with Harry's reply, his ego was wounded on behalf of his child self, who had his friendship offer turned down.

"What's the matter, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, as a response to Harry's wish to talk to him.

"I'd much rather to talk about it alone." He informed, and with that they both walked away, vanishing out of sight.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy, we'll let you get a bit of rest." McGonagall told him, mentioning both herself and Snape out. She wished for everyone to leave in fact, yet still Goyle lingered.

Draco watched them walk away rather carefully, and he could hear them murmuring things to each other that he didn't bother to care about. He was waiting for them to completely disappear away from where they could see him and hear him so he could ask Goyle the question that had been messing with his mind since the moment Potter walked in, the question that caused his quite sudden and unpleasant panic.

"Did I say anything?" He asked ever so hurriedly, as though he was being chased by something unknown to him, once he made sure they were nowhere to be seen.

"Nothing really, you were half dead." Goyle answer the question with undeniable confusion, he couldn't tell why it mattered so much, and why he was as rushed as he was to get the answer. Draco, on the other hand, was a bit too relieved, probably more relieved than he was meant to be. But he couldn't help it, it felt too good to feel such ease, having nothing to be scared of. "But last night oh lord, last night, you wouldn't shut up, kept murmuring something like father please a bit too loudly, wouldn't let us get some peace and quiet almost all night long."

Draco's face went immediately pale while Goyle spoke, blood froze in his vains. There was no relief to be be felt anymore. It wasn't that he was embarrassed of his roommates hearing his late-night cries. He was scared, of the dream itself. Now that he was reminded of it, thanks to that oblivious idiot, he couldn't shake it off his head. Never did he ever remember a dream with its very exact details.

"Leave me alone." He ordered Goyle, who didn't seem to be listening or caring at all, out of the room. He rolled over, facing away, because, for the most part, he didn't want the idiot next to him to notice the growing terror in his eyes as the memory of that dream ran across his mind over and over, in an endless loop.

"What-" there was evident confusion with his voice, the dumbest kind it seemed to Draco.

"I SAID LEAVE ME ALONE!" He snapped, losing his self control, not that he cared enough to keep a firm grip on himself anyway. He hoped his voice sounded violently stern enough to hide the flimsiness that was starting to take over his voice, to hide the cracks that began creating themselves in his voice as it weakened. As it always happened to him, he started losing the strength he built up for himself, faced by the fear and sorrow that dream had planted in him.

"Okay! What the hell?" Goyle muttered under his breath as he hesitantly tried to find his way out and away from Draco, who felt like an unstable bomb.

Even with his eyes open, Draco was still haunted by that petulant way his father looked him in the eye. He could ever so lucidly see his clutched teeth and tightened frown. The sound of that his bitter yells still echoed through his mind, and still scared him as though his was consciously living it in that moment.

And on the other hand, he could still spot the sparkles in his mother's eyes, her smile was present in his mind as well. And just like the bitterness is his father's voice, he could still hear the sweet agony in his mother's drifting sentences. And even though he was fully awake, his eyes open wide, welcoming only the view of the wall and the empty beds in the hospital, he was still trying to feel his mother in his arms, he was still trying to get a smell of her scent. He was, just like before, trying to get as much of her as he could, for it was the last time he could feel her, and yet he couldn't feel her. And just like before it felt like carrying water with his bare hands; it still slipped from the cracks between his fingers.

A tear escaped his eye, he no longer bothered to put effort on trying to trap his tears, as they always found a way out, no matter how hard he tried. So he just let it flow out while he stared blankly at the wall before him. 


	5. Four

Four days had passed since Draco spoke to Harry, that day at the hospital, and since then, their conversations were mere passing eye contacts, as Draco didn't try to start any sort of interaction with neither Harry nor his friends. As though it was the thing they had no choice but do, they ended up with their eyes refusing to leave each other every time the could spot each other around, for a moment, two, or perhaps ages. As much as he tried to deny it, Harry felt a strange sensation creeping up his stomach every time his eyes met the pale blue pair of Draco's, and found them looking right back at his. A sensation of a little spark jumping in his stomach, eager it felt to turn into lively flames, which he most certainly never thought he'd feel, at least not when he found Draco looking at him.

He could ever so easily tell that Draco wasn't feeling his best self, he could see it like the light of day throughout those four days. He couldn't help but notice, whenever Draco was around, how unusually recluse he was, how _different_ he felt. He could no longer see him sitting with his two large friends at their spot on the slytherin table, their voices annoyingly loud as they went bugging whoever they pleased. Instead, Harry would find him at the far end of the table, all by himself. Sometimes when he looked at him, he would find his head buried in his crossed arms against the table, seeming as though he had fallen asleep. The blonde boy, as if he could feel Harry's eyes wandering around him, he would lift his head up and let his eyes meet the curious pair of Harry's, which to Harry, didn't seem intentional, he wasn't looking for him specifically in the crowd. But every time he could see his eyes, even from afar, he could spot the weariness in his eyes, he could spot the exhaustion that washed them, taking away their glimmer, and Harry could swear he had never seen a pair of eyes so dim, especially Draco's. And some other times, he wouldn't be able to find him anywhere in sight, for a meal or two.

But that wasn't the only thing Harry noticed to be different about him. In the time of those four days, Harry found himself rather invested - _too invested, in fact_ \- in knowing what happened to cause Draco's drastic change, and he still couldn't take off him mind the question of what happened to him during the week he spent away from school. He hated how he couldn't think of anything else but him, like Draco was invading his mind with no desire to leave. He hated how worried he felt whenever he could see the glimpses of change on Draco, and remembering how he was in the past only made it worse. He couldn't help but observe the smallest details in search for an answer, but that only gave him more things to unwillingly worry about.

He could see, every time he passed past him, his clothes hanging baggy on his body, which by that time had become so thin and fragile like a dried petal of a flower, as though he would break in a blow of breeze. The bones of his face had an appearance more than they used to. And looking closer, Harry could see heavy dark bags forming under his restless eyes. And his lips were chipped, covered by bits of dead skin as Harry caught his chewing rather aggressively on them often. His hair still maintained its natural neatness, yet still it felt messy in a way, he no longer cared to wake up half an hour earlier than the rest of the students to get himself in the best shape possible. Now, he was most likely to sleep in and get caught sleeping during classes, and yet still he looked restless. And according to the story everyone claimed to hear from McGonagall, he was found one night lying on the floor crying in a dark hallway after hours. Harry was able to believe that story, as he saw Draco excuse himself out of classes with his face looking flaming red as if burnt rather often, and Harry allowed himself to assume he left to cry. He was aching to know what made Draco cry that often and that openly, yet he knew better than to ask. 

He walked through the hole in the wall and into the gryfinndor common room, followed by both Ron and Hermione who seemed to be chatting about something which Harry didn't care enough about to give a listening ear. He let out a loud sigh that felt as though it filled the whole room, drawing his friends' attention to him as he tossed himself on the sofa.

"Harry, you seem, very zoned out today. What's the matter?" Hermione asked in somewhat of a playful tone, sitting on the floor and facing Harry. Next to her sat Ron, gently holding her hand.

"I've been thinking, about something. I can't really shake it off my head. It's weird." He answered, his eyes narrowed in a squint while he looked at everything but her.

"And the thing is?"

"Hermione, have you noticed a change on Draco?" He was looking at her with hopeful eyes, like a child. He was hoping that worrying about Draco's bizarre behavior was an issue that worried everyone, so that he didn't feel weirded out the way he did. 

"I don't really know what you're talking about, Harry." Her wrinkled face expression showed concern towards Harry, for she thought he was hit on the head, causing him to lose a bit of his brain. To join the conversation, Ron shook his head, showing his agreement with Hermione.

Her response did disappoint Harry, knowing that he was the only one who was unreasonably anxious about the boy he hated most, or thought so for too long. But he somehow didn't think about it, not one bit, as though once her sentence was heard, it was thrown to the back of his head almost at once, he couldn't feel the disappointment as he was meant to, it didn't bother him much that he was quite obsessively concerned about Malfoy.

He stood up, and began restlessly pacing around the room, cracking his knuckles probably more than normal, and murmuring his thoughts under his breath. "It's just, something feels very wrong, like dangerously wrong with him. I mean, haven't you noticed?" He spoke out loud finally, as if justifying his concern to his own self.

"He was gone for a week, he's really _quiet_. I just can't help but think of what might have happened to him. And I have this feeling, that it's way beyond that, and it's only getting worse." He couldn't feel how quickly he was talking, but certainly Hermione and Ron did feel it. His words didn't get the time enough for them to sound complete.

"First, calm down. Sit." Hermione mentioned him back to the sofa, but he didn't seem to be listening to her at all. "Second, I don't see why it's so important to you. You're meant to be happy that he's finally off your back."

"But you don't understand!" He found himself almost yelling, his voice gained a pitch from the trouble it caused him to think about how he was expected to just sit and watch, without really understanding what truly bothered him about just sitting and watching. "It isn't that he decided to leave us alone, it's just, he isn't going on with his life normally without annoying us. Something has changed. And if I know something about it, it's bad."

He let a desperate sigh escape from his lips as he was tired to doing all the talking. Looking at both of them, he could easily tell that they didn't know what they're meant to do about it, and they just didn't care enough to do anything at all.

"Look, I just think we should reach out and do something, to help you know." He wiped a few drops of sweat off his forehead, he wished to get a glass of water. It felt to him as though a subconscious part of him was talking, for he just didn't seem to realize the words he was saying.

"Have you gone mad Harry? Help _Draco Malfoy_? Of all people? I'd much rather let him drown in whatever he's going through." Ron replied, more in the fiirm of an attack, jumping up from his position on the floor.

"You don't really understand," he exhaled, his throat felt dry after all this talking, and this conversation seemed to be a dead end that he regretted starting it in the first place. "I just feel like we need to help him. I just have this feeling that he's not well, and like all of us he deserves to be help, you know what I mean?"

"No." Ron and Hermione said in union, shaking their heads slightly and eventually deciding to find something else to do, _something that made more sense._

Why did he even talk about it? He still couldn't really wrap him mind around why did matter to him enough to tell his friends about it, and why did he expect them to help. Why did he himself even think about helping? He was annoyed that he was still thinking about the drained look on Draco's face, and he hated the fact that even when he was pissed off about thinking about it, he still worriedly thought about it. 


	6. Five

Draco woke up the next morning, late as his new habit ordered, to find out that half the school knew at least a little something about what happened to him. Divided into groups they seemed, those who believed, those who didn't, and those who just enjoyed the gossip of it. No matter how hard he tried to think of what gave it all away, his mind wasn't able to help give him a valid answer.

He walked the hallway that morning, late on his way to his potions class, and he could feel countless pairs of eyes following behind him wherever he went, eyes that appeared to say all sorts of things about him. Every face his eyes fell on was looking back at him, with pity, with worry, with a happy sneer sometimes, all while every mouth seemed to utter words he couldn't figure out to various companions.

He felt trapped in his own skin, his body was gathering heat, making it hard for him to find a breath. His arm felt dull, as though asleep, he could hardly reach out to his tie to loosen it. He was sweating more than he liked, as if his body was squeezing itself dry.

His biggest wish was for them to all look away, find something, _anything,_ they preferred other than his family issues. He wasn't even sure how many of the people surrounding him actually knew, but it terrified him to think that most of them did, and most of them were talking about it as he walked by. He _thought_ he heard someone say _poor Malfoy got himself a mudblood mother now,_ and he wasn't even sure if he could trust his ears as it felt as if his mind was playing tricks on him, since every other voice sounded to be saying the same. He found himself rushing away with gathering speed, no longer trying to find his way to class as he would much rather go back to the slytherin dungeons. He couldn't hear any talking-like voices, everything from his surroundings was muted and replaced by the loud pounding of his heart in his ears, and his breathing pattern as it grew louder, but yet still it felt like everything grew ten times louder in his head. He was on the verge of passing out right in that spot. But no matter how fast and far he strode, it felt to him as though he was walking that same hallway over and over again in an endless loop, as if the way out of it was only the way back in.

Not focusing on the way before him and constantly looking around in anxiety, he felt himself crash shoulder to shoulder into someone, which snapped him back into real life after what felt like perpetual hours - _or one single hour that seemed to be frozen_ \- of disquiet. The boy he knocked into stood tall before him, looking firmly down at Draco's stone-hard figure. He didn't remember seeing him around before.   
"Oi, watch it there kid." He spoke with a very deep American accent, pushing him off his way.

Draco kept looking down as he walked after that, hoping that it would help put down the thought of what everyone thought of him now, how they all viewed him as, hoping that by not seeing their burning gazes, he doesn't feel their unrequired attention.

After ages of walking, he was out on the grounds. He didn't know why or how he ended up there of all places, but he just couldn't walk any further, his feet felt like melted rubber, wobbly and unable to hold him up straight for much longer. He tossed his bag under a tree a little further than everyone, and then sat down leaning against it. He hugged his knees, bringing them up to his chin which rested on them as he looked far at pretty much nothing. He did feel a desire to cry approaching, but luckily enough he was in a state of tiredness that didn't give a chance to do pretty much anything.

Despite the blinding sunlight breaking through his eyes, giving them a kind of a glimmer, he could see a group of four people he couldn't say he had seen before, but judging by the colors of their uniforms, the gold and red, he could tell they were gryfinndors.  
As they drew closer, and he could see them clearly, two of them were awfully tall boys, blocking the views of a girl behind them, which to his surprise was familiar, _very familiar_ to him, he could recognize her by her sharp cut short black hair and slytherin uniform, _Pansy_. And another blonde girl holding the hand of one of the boys with a large smile she looked like she was trying to hide. He could ask what they wanted from him, but then one of the boys spoke before he could open his mouth.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy? Crying over filthy mommy?" He taunted with a growing smile as he gained a laugh from the rest of his group, including Pansy.

"Leave me alone for fuck's sake." He replied with his voice low and heavy. He had no power or desire to fight, or to make a scene and let the ones who didn't know know. He looked away, hoping to find them gone when he looks back, but unsurprisingly they still stood there, laughing again.

"Or what? You're gonna tell your big daddy about it? I'd like to see you do that." By now Draco was starting to get loaded, rage taking over him slowly that it scared him what he might do if he lost it, but it also scared him that he might do nothing at all. "Oh wait, your daddy doesn't care!"

The sound of their growing laughter was echoing in his head, his body started stiffening, becoming too painfully stiff in fact. He could hear the beating of his heart loud and clear again, but unlike last time, it was all messy and furious. By that point he couldn't really feel anyone around him, not even the rest of the group, just him and that tall figure of a boy. To admit it, his last sentence made him think of the constant look of his father's face ever since his mother left, the constant look of shame and disapproval he gave Draco whenever he could see him. He remembered every single word, the harsh tone of voice, and how selfish it was of him to never let him even write to his mother in fear for his fragile reputation. His father _did not_ care about him, and he was angry at the boy for bringing it back to his head.

"There he goes." The boy said to the rest of them as he watched Draco slowly rise up from the ground and straight on his feet. He knew that this was what the boy wanted of him to do, to get him to his very edge, and he couldn't help but let him have it.

"Hey Daniel, did you know that Malfoy's mom fell in love with a mudblood?" He shouted across the grounds to someone who seemed to be standing just down the little hill he sat on, while trying to look back without breaking the eye contact with Draco.

"Oh yeah, she's real nasty now. Can't blame her though, his father is one big piece of shit." A voice, far away, shouted back, following his sentence with a loud pitched laugh that sounded obviously forced.

Before he could feel it, Draco was grabbing on the boy's collar ever so tightly, pulling him closer. His fingers clutched around the clothing, in a continually tightening manner that his knuckles became white like unripe strawberries as their faces became close, too close he could feel the boy's heavy hot breaths blending with his.

"If I hear you talking about this again, I swear I'll fucking kill you." He threatened, his voice close to a whisper through his teeth, he was growing breathless and his body felt like it was being cooked.

"Oh yeah? How will you do that?" He replied, his voice equally low but with a hint of challenge through it which Draco couldn't stand.

Draco pulled out his wand, pointing it right into the boy's neck. His hand was shaking rather noticeably as he gripped on the wand with so much more force than intended. Unable to control his unstable hand, he felt the tip of his wand digging deeper into the boy's neck, and he didn't really mind it.

"What has gotten into you two!" An exclaim came from a short distance, distracting them from each other for a brief moment. As they turned to face where it came from, they spotted Harry Potter rushing up to them, in Draco's direction to be exact.

"Oh look, Potter is here to save the day!" The boy sneered in a cheerful tone of voice, obviously annoyed by Harry's presence, which seemed to be something they all agreed on, even Draco.

"Have you told him, Malfoy?" The boy smirked once Draco let go of him for a moment as his fingers began to hurt from grabbing his collar too hard. "Maybe if you tell him, he can save your arse."

The next thing Draco knew was that his fingers were curled in a fist with a glimpse of pain spreading through his knuckles as he punched him. He thought he'd feel at ease at last, after physically pouring out his anger, but he didn't, it felt like nothing, he couldn't feel anything changing in him. And so, watching as the boy checked the area of the punch in shock, he punched him again, and again, knocking him off his feet and sitting on top of him, ready to do it again. He still couldn't tell if he felt any different.

The rest of his group ran off, as it was expected of them since they were only his comedy show audience, only there for the fun part. Meanwhile Harry, who felt like he stood there watching for longer that he was supposed to, ran up to Draco and as soon as he reached him, he wrapped his arms around his waist from behind in attempts to pull him away, but trying to move him was like trying to get a statue to move. His body was as stiff as a rock while he focused on the boy beneath him, and it was only growing stiffer.

He'd never been this close to him before, Harry thought. Their bodies never touched the way they did at that moment. _He smelt good._

At last, Draco let go of the boy, finally giving Harry the chance to drag him away. He was now sitting on the ground, his body started loosening bit by bit as his eyes stuck at the sight of the half knocked out boy beside him. Harry could hear his panting growing louder, as if he had spent years without a single breath.

"Get off me, Potter!" Once Draco stood up straight on his feet again he pushed Harry off rather violently, causing him to fall. Looking back at his body trying to lift himself up from the floor, Draco felt bad almost at once, and for a reason he didn't know, he actually did want to help him up again, but he couldn't.

Now, he was aware of everyone circling around him, and they probably had been like that for long enough to watch it all happen, but he was too blinded by his fury to see them or hear them whispering to each other in excitement. But now that he could feel them, and he could feel their eyes wandering around him even more strangely now, looking at him as the freak of the story, he felt yet another anxiety attack come to him, with the huge desire to not be seen, which had occurred to him a bit too often throughout the past two weeks he got used to it. So he ran away as fast as his half numb legs could carry him, hoping that no one could see his almost crying face as he flashed by them without a specific destination in mind.


	7. Six

Harry stood at the door hesitantly, trying to make up his mind if it was the right thing to do to walk into the bathroom where he knew he'd find Draco. So he stood there, moving his foot forward and then taking it right back. In a moment of nervousness, the idea of just simply walking away clicked in his mind, and it felt alluring. But still, he stood still, eyeing the door with worry as he didn't know what version of Draco he would get to meet behind it. He wished he knew what gave him such powerful willingness to help him, so that he could just wipe it off existence.

He pushed the door open at last, a little crack, through which he could see Draco's figure sitting on the floor, leaning against one of the toilet stall doors, undressed from his vest and robe, letting them lay unnoticed on the floor beside him. Harry still couldn't make his presence known. Never had he ever seen Draco cry with such anguish, never had he ever seen Draco cry at all in fact, never had he ever heard a sound carrying that much pain within, certainly not from Draco. Hearing the sound of his sobs alone planted a kind of pain deep within his bones, as if the pain which filled the crying could permeate through the solid of the body. His elbows pressed against his knees while the palms of his hands buried his face within them, letting his fingers grip on the front of his hair. Harry felt weak at the sight of him.

"Draco," with so much effort to get his voice to be heard, Harry's voice came out more like a whisper. He walked in, a few careful in, as though he was walking on thin ice.

Draco's head turned up in a quick manner, a jolt that made his neck hurt. Looking at Harry as he stood still facing him, his brows raised in a softened stare, he remembered just how terrified he was of him only a few days ago, just how it put him in a state of distress to think about him having the slightest idea, only the thought of the memory itself filled him with dread, he was on the verge of freaking out. But as he looked at him for one moment more, the dread in him was replaced by the heavy feeling of his heart sinking so hard he almost couldn't feel anything except that drowning dismay. He could recognize that feeling, that growing fear and bitterness, the fear of what would happen next, he felt it before at the sight of his mother walking out of the bedroom with here suitcases behind her. There was no point of panicking whenever he's around now, he knew all right.

Overwhelmed by a different sort of fear, he could feel his heart racing in his chest, powerful enough to break free from his ribcage. Unlike all the times before, he didn't fear Harry for his ability of knowing or of using everything against him, but scared that the other boy won't look at him the same anymore, however it was that he viewed him as, scared he was that now, as Harry stood before him, he was showing his emotions a bit too clearly, enough for Harry to see right through his despair.

But what surprised him most of all was hearing his first name drift off Harry's lips for the first time. He didn't know how to feel about it.

Harry approached him in a snail's pace, without saying a single word, which felt intentional, as though he was a little animal Harry didn't want to scare away. But despite the quietness of the encounter, Draco, out of his control, felt the need to fight, to defend himself. So with a pair of shaking hands, he tried to reach for his robe, which concealed his wand underneath, all while trying not to let his eyes slip away from Harry, for he thought that if in a moment, for any reason, he looked away, he'd find Harry with his pointed at him.

"Hey, easy there." Harry said, seeming very calm, as he saw Draco's wand in the air, pointing at him in a threatening manner. "I come in peace."

He didn't feel threatened at all, in fact he never felt as safe around Draco. He almost knew it by heart that Draco wasn't meaning to do anything.

Careful steps took him further into the bathroom and closer to Draco, with his hands still wide open before him to signal that he didn't plan on going to his wand, that he was only here for a talk. Draco still held on tight to his wand, which he didn't seem to be able to help.

The lighting in the bathroom was dim, almost nonexistent, but still he could spot the tiniest little glimmers in Draco cold-blue eyes, caused by the gathering tears that worked like sparkling water. His face was broken into an unfamiliar pucker, something Harry had yet to get used to since all he had ever seen from Draco was his smirks of pride. He never really had the chance to see pain - or any other emotion - appear ever so vividly on his pale face.

"What do you want from me, Potter?" He spoke with his teeth firmly shut, trying to make himself sound a lot sharper, hiding the areas where his voice lost its strength to his sobs.

"Put the wand down, Draco." Draco, though hesitantly, lowered his wand slowly when Harry told him to. He seemed to feel safe at last, or perhaps just too tired and bored that he didn't bother to care even if Harry was to hurt him.

"Draco, what is it? What is it that has been hurting you?" Harry never meant to his voice to sound this friable, he didn't have to force the sound of concern into his voice. He knelt down in front of Draco, who for a moment seemed to be confused, and then later realized that his hand was resting in Draco's knee, which explained the looks of confusion he gave him.

"It'll do you so much better if you mind you own business." Something beyond ease flooded Draco as he spoke, but he tried to keep it on the low. Did he actually _not_ know when everyone else did? Or was he just making sure. He flinched away at the sensation of his hand on his knee, he couldn't say he was used to such firm of physical contact.

"Draco, please. I'm trying to help-" He sounded to be the desperate one in the room as he pleaded, but he didn't really mind it.

"I don't need your help Potter!" Draco snapped, pushing Harry away from him rather harshly. Now that he knew he had nothing to worry about, he was getting irritated by Harry's presence, and his all heroic nature. He hated it, no he _loathed_ it when Harry took it upon himself to get everything going as it supposed to, which seemed to be something he couldn't stop doing.

"Why would you want to help me, anyway?" He asked the question right after it popped into his head, the question which Harry himself didn't have a fulfilling answer to.

"Because you need help, Draco! And if you won't let me in, get someone else to help!" He almost yelled, throwing it right to his face. He was starting to regret his worry, regret his eagerness to help and wishing that he walked away when he had the chance.

"Leave me alone, Potter." Draco ordered in a rather austere tone of voice, austere yet low. He was getting jaded, perhaps too jaded that breathing itself felt like too much work. He no longer wanted to talk, at all, not even to mention Harry away from him. He was ready to sit there for hours in silence even with Harry around if it took less talking. "And I want to see a little of you as possible."

"Fine." Harry breathed out quite violently, which in a moment felt childish. But he was truly angered, mostly at himself because he _cared_ , and he was all willing to forget everything Draco had ever done to him in order to help make him feel better. He jumped up on his feet, fueled by the anger and disappointment he had just been given, and made his way out without the thought of looking back at all.

He was beginning to wish that he never pulled him out of the fight, he wished he left him there to get a few punches to get his head straight. Which after some thought felt really awful to wish, after all it was Draco Malfoy, it was only right he puts at least one bit if resistance before giving in, and that was how it was when everything was well and normal. But now that life wasn't at its best for him, it felt as though everything was going the way it should be.


	8. Seven

"Excuse me, professor Lupin, I'd like to borrow Mr. Potter from you for a few moments." While in the midst of talking, professor Lupin was interrupted by the familiar old voice of Dumbledore, causing every head to turn facing the door, especially Harry whose name was called.

"Yeah, sure." Lupin replied with confusion all over his voice, it's not every day that he has Dumbledore taking away one of his students. He had no other option but to agree regardless of not knowing what was going around.

Harry left his desk, walking up to the door. Everyone but him could sense the way his body was trembling. He felt he had an idea about what Dumbledore would want of him, and he wished so hard he was wrong. The thought of having to think and talk about it again turned his stomach into knots. The journey towards the door seemed to go on and on for ages, as though his feet were glued to the floor beneath them, and it took the effort of a million years to get them to move. And all through the ages it took him to get to the door, he wished to be dead before he gets to the door.

To his not-really surprise, he saw Draco standing right behind Dumbledore's back, and next to him stood the boy from the fight yesterday. A red spot settled just underneath his eye, a little plaster that matched the skin tone of his red-looking face seemed to hold his nose together in place, and the little cut just above his lip was left exposed. Quite frankly, it was a bit of a shocker to see the boy up and well, his bets were on him occupying a hospital bed for a day or two at least. The three of them, clear as day, could hardly breathe at the presence of others.

Dumbledore led the way through the tranquil hallways, the only sounds to be heard were their heavy steps as they marched, and the occasional voices of various teachers as they passed by closed class doors. Harry would almost describe it as _peaceful,_ if only he could ignore the sparks of absolute despise that jumped off each one of them, and the growing heat of his body as he was around them, half knowing where this was going. All with Draco tossing random glares at both boys who accompanied him.

"But professor Dumbledore, I wasn't involved-" His voice broke the silence, being the first to do so, and sounding as though he was in a hurry. He was hopeless to find a way out of it all before having to witness any of it, and he was almost too sure everyone could sense it.

"Silence, Harry." Dumbledore shushed the moment he opened his mouth, putting his long wished dreams of walking away from it out of his reach.

Walking into Dumbledore's tiny stuffed office, and being the first to walk after the headmaster, Harry had the strongest feeling that Draco, who walked just behind him, would push him off the narrow stairs. He couldn't tell why he had that thought in his head, but he took extra care walking the few steps down, holding the railing tighter than he liked. He felt as though he was the only one scared, the only one who feared the trouble they threw themselves in, and the speech Dumbledore was about to give them. The other two boys seemed to be much more focused on their thriving hatred to each other to care about anything else.

"Now that we're here, anyone of you gentlemen would like to explain the messy, thoughtless behavior you were involved in yesterday?" The old headmaster asked, leaning back against his desk with the three of them lined before him. For a single moment, every mouth remained closed, as though everyone was trying to come up with their favorable side of the story to prove their innocence.

"He tried to kill me!" The boy cried, judging by the way he spoke and the way he took a step forward, he had the plan of attacking Draco in mind, but then he was struck by the time and place he was in.

"Oh yeah? Wouldn't have tried if you left me the hell alone!" Draco cried back, his voice a lot harsher and deeper from the boy's attention-seeking one. He seemed too hazardously close to attacking the other boy, and unlike him he wasn't to be stopped by the time and place - he couldn't care less about it, but rather by Dumbledore's voice as he demanded them apart.

"Watch your attitude, both of you!" Dumbledore yelled and both of them fell silent, still throwing death stares at each other. Harry stood a step behind them, feeling a bit too relieved that his existence was completely ignored, he liked that feeling of invisibility. The more time he spent there, the more useless he felt, but it was still better than having a big role to play in all of this. He wondered for a second if he could just sneak his way out, but he knew he'd be found.

"What spell did you use on him, Mr. Malfoy?" He questioned, regaining the calmness of his voice. In the corner of his eye, Harry could see the taunt smile on the boy's face growing wider, taking the joy of feeling like he was winning. Harry couldn't help but feel irritated on Draco's behalf.

"Professor, he didn't use magic against him. He threatened to do so, yes, but did not." Harry spoke at last, after giving it some thought whether he actually wanted to be a part of the conversation or not. But it was an urgent desire to tell the truth, even if it defended Draco, that was just a bonus, because he knew it by heart that Draco didn't care enough to defend himself.

"Is that the case, Mr. Schultz?" Dumbledore looked at the boy right in the eye after Harry's statement, making sure it was the truth. The boy went pale in the face just about immediately.

"W-well, he- he pointed his wand right into my neck! He threatened me! And I highly doubt it was but a threat!" He jumped as soon as he realized things weren't going exactly how he wanted.

"But he didn't use magic on you!" Harry replied, equally loud. The boy's desperate need to be seen as a victim sat heavy on Harry's nerves, he never thought he'd be that annoyed by him, and what added more to his annoyance was Draco's utter silence as though he was alright being seen guilty of something he didn't do, leaving Harry to do all the talking for him. The boy only shook his head slightly in denial.

"Well in that case, we do not tolerate violence in this school, Mr. Malfoy, with or without magic." Dumbledore informed, choosing to believe Harry, yet it wasn't quite the satisfactory. "Twenty five points from slytherin for your reckless behavior, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco rolled his eyes in boredom, but he didn't look as bothered by the lack of justice as Harry, if he was bothered at all. The boy on the other hand, seemed to be very pleased with the outcome of the conversation, looking at the two of Harry and Draco with a sneer he didn't intend to hide.

"Professor, I understand the point you're trying to make here, but violence is violence. Draco's physical offense was only a result of Ben's _verbal_ violence, which started it all." Harry found himself speaking, he felt big with the words he said, cutting Ben's celebrations short as Dumbledore seemed to be listening carefully to every word he spoke, with little nods of approval.

"I like what you said there Mr. Potter, fair point." Dumbledore's approval wasn't the only thing Harry got for his clever-sounding statement. He could feel the two boys' eyes burning through him like fine light through magnifying glass. When he looked over his shoulder, he could see Ben's lips moving in _are you an idiot?!_ as he mouthed the few words to him, it felt more like a death threat. But that was something he expected - _wanted_ to see, so the sight of it only filled with more pride towards what he said. But it was Draco who left him to drown in his confusion, it was Draco's reaction he couldn't quite grasp. When he looked in Draco's direction, and their eyes met, he could see the boy's pale eyes glowing not with relief or any of such nature, but with pure anger filling them. His face was broken into an intense frown that held the eye contact for a moment, but he soon looked away. Harry was lost, he was meant to be happy, grateful, or maybe even taking it for granted, but still be relieved to have heard it. All of which didn't appear the slightest on Draco, who looked at Harry with gazes that could alone strangle him.

"Thirty points from gryfinndor, for attempting - and succeeding - to start trouble. But, ten points for Mr. Potter for his obliging reaction." Dumbledore announced, feeling a bit proud by Harry and a bit let down by Ben, it was known how he hated to be put in a situation where he has to take points from gryfinndor, but as a headmaster of one of the biggest wizarding schools, he had to be just.

Harry couldn't really be happy with his reward, his mind was rather stuck to Draco and his ridiculously annoying ingratitude. He could feel the blood boiling in his veins, letting his anger wash him before Draco for it was the second time his hand of help got turned down, and he felt like the joker in the room for trying again after it didn't exactly work last time. He hated that urge he had to help Draco whenever he saw him, he couldn't stand himself for his uncontrollable sympathy towards Draco who obviously wasn't worth it. He wished to take back every single word that came out of his mouth in Draco's defense.

"I didn't ask you to defend me, Potter! If I wanted to defend myself why would you think I'd need you? Next time I'd truly appreciate it if you keep your heroic tendencies to your damn self!" No word had come out of Draco all through the conversation, not even when he was meant to say something, until that moment, and when it came out, it came out strident and abrupt. By that point, Harry was used to Draco flooding him with insults, but that was different. It wasn't as insulting as it was breaking to Harry and shocking to everyone else.

Harry felt a weird sensation of stinging heat in his cheeks, and his desire to just walk away in complete silence topped everything else in his mind. He wished he thought a little more before opening his mouth. He blamed himself for it really, he knew it was about time Draco fucking Malfoy cuts him dead for simply trying to help, and Harry could feel that he was doing it for the mere purpose of hiding, but it didn't matter to him anymore if what he was hiding was planting daggers in him, not like it used to. He was lost in his desires to yell back or walk away, but he did neither as he stood there with his eyes fixed on Draco, who did the same, in total silence, drowning in the thickness of the air.

"Behave yourself, Draco." It did feel like ages but it was only a few moments before a settle voice broke their silent battle, settle but quite alarming. As all four of them turned to the source, the figure of Lucius Malfoy stood straight and high by the entrance, seeing him there seemed to rush cold air into the room. His hallow eyes focused on nothing but Draco, who didn't look to be quite happy with the sight of his father, if anything, his body stiffened and shrunk into the shape of a lifeless needle when he saw him.


	9. Eight

_**TRIGGER WARNING: VIOLENCE**_.

"Now if you don't mind, professor Dumbledore, I'd like to have a word with my son, alone." Lucuis' voice broke the silence that took over for a moment following the sight of him, as he walked up closer to Draco. Although Draco was trying too hard to look down, at nothing but his shiny black shoes, he knew that everyone around him could still see the terror growing his eyes, the terror he tried to hide, the terror he was never meant to look at his own father with. He felt his body slightly flinching away with every time his father stepped closer, despite trying to hide it. He felt like a child left alone in the dark, not knowing what was lurking in the corners, except, he knew what was waiting for him, he knew the monster awaiting for him with greedy eyes in the corner.

His hand rested on the back of Draco's neck, sounding to others, who were oblivious of his strong fingers clutching with all their strength to his neck as though he was holding on to dear life, quite the fatherly gesture as he walked him out. Draco scanned every face he passed by, wishing they sense his need for help, but no one seemed to really feel it. Dumbledore did have a troubled look his face while he watched them pass, yet he remained silent as it was the only option he had in hand. He could tell that his father was not there for warm embraces and lovely talks, from the way his fingers only seemed to tuck themselves deeper within his skin as they slowly were surrounded by no one, and the unsteady breathing pattern his father had.

Once he found a lonely corner, Lucuis let go of Draco, throwing him away to the wall like luggage. Draco struggled to stay standing after his father threw him, nearly falling before he hit the wall behind him. He couldn't exactly say he didn't see that coming. His father looked away, his eyes were facing the stone of the building but he could hardly see anything through his fury, meanwhile Draco kept his eyes fixed on his father in dread. He did expect his father to do so but he had no idea why, so as he looked at his father with panic-struck eyes, he silently begged to know.

"You empty-headed prat!" His father walked back to him with speed that caused his cloak to stretch behind him, only two furious steps took him to Draco. He yanked him by the collar rather harshly, pulling his massless body up with little to no effort as Draco knew better than to put up a fight.

"How could you go about telling everyone in this rat hole about your mother!" Draco's eyes widened a little too hard as he heard his father's blade-like voice, there was a burn in his stomach. He felt a bit disgruntled that his father thought he did this while he'd much rather die than utter a word about it, yet still he felt some relief creeping through him, this might be his way out of his father's merciless grip. 

"I did not!" He did not mind his voice coming out louder than intended, nor did he mind the bits of confusion that found their way through his voice. He was genuinely confused why his father thought he did this. His father let go of him, it felt somewhat soothing, to feel that his father believed him. But it was too good and too soon to be true. 

Before he could comprehend it, a stinging pain shot through the skin of his cheek, and his head was turned rather robustly to the side as he could feel his father's hand meet his cheek in a forceful smack. It hurt so much it brought tears to his eyes. He rested his hand on the place where he was hit hoping to lessen the pain but nothing. 

"How dare you lie to me!" His father attempted to yell, but he couldn't, knowing that this conversation had to be quiet for the sake of its privacy. So he spoke through his teeth, not sounding any less harsh. His fingers curled around his face, constricting Draco's jaw way too hard he could feel his father's fingers cutting his skin and digging in it, it was too painful he could hardly feel it. It brought back the feeling from his dream to his head, it felt like a deja vou and he felt like crumbling. He did wish this was another dream, he did wish to wake up at the hospital wing too hot to feel his surroundings again. "What is it that you're trying to do? Why are you so determined to bury our name in the dirt?" 

"Father, I really didn't do it, I swear! Don't you think I'm just as disgraced as you?" He tried to speak through his father's clutch, but his words could hardly be made out. "I hate it just as much as you do! I hate _her_ just as much as you do!" He lied, and it was a hard lie to tell. He lied a lot to almost everyone he had ever met, but that one took draining effort to be said. 

"Right." His father replied, sounding calm as he let go of him. He could finally breathe. He walked away, a few steps away, and turned back, looking at the blank stones again. He stood there doing nothing, saying nothing for a moment, a blissful moment it felt. Yet still, by that time Draco knew better than to build high hopes on a moment of silence, as it was only the quietness before the storm. 

His father seemed to be pulling something out of the inside pocket of his cloak, and as he held it up for Draco to see, it appeared to be an envelope, still not looking back at his son. "Then care to explain this?" 

His heart sank at the sight of the yellowish envelope resting his father's hand, knowing what it was. He was gradually beginning to panic. His eyes slowly started blurring, it felt as though concrete was placed upon his chest, taking his breath away. The only thing he could hear was his heart pounding painfully loud all over him, he could swear it would explode at any given moment. He let himself slide down from his stance, slowly sitting down on the floor with his arms covering his head as he felt his tears threatening to stream down his face. He was like a powerless creature in defense. 

" _My dearest Draco, first of all I want you to know that my love for you outnumbers the stars, and never let anyone tell you otherwise. Second of all, I know your father is giving you a hard time, he was never the easiest to deal with when things were calm let alone in times of crisis. So, my boy, I'd much rather if you go back to school, I know you don't want to, but then at least you'd be away from him, and he can't hurt you. Your loving mother_." His father read the paper out loud, clearly his hand was shaking with the paper in it, gripping it too hard out of anger. 

With every word of the letter, Draco let his weakness overwhelm him. He didn't really want to put any more effort on fighting his tears away, so he let them wet his cheeks as freely as they wished. He was scared, the words in the letter planted so much pain in him, he was hurt, and there was no point of playing tough. 

"I thought I was very clear, Draco, when I said there must be no contact with this woman." His father mountained on top of him, as if waiting for him to get up. 

"She's my mother!" Draco found himself yelling at the top of his empty lungs. It burnt his throat, but he didn't mind it. He didn't mind what would come next from his father either, everything felt painfully numb, everything seemed like it was fading, and there was no point of holding on to anything, not even his own life. 

"Silence!" Following his father's sharp pitched voice, he felt the tip of his shoes dig right into the side of his stomach as he kicked him, just like he used to kick his house elves. He cried in pain, but it went unheard. His father yanked him by his jumper again, as if trying to lift him up single handedly. "When are you going to open your eyes, you idiot!" He tossed him again, and he carelessly lied down on the ground.

"She never loved you!" The next thing he felt was a constant burning sensation of pain on his upper arm as his father kept striking him with his fine wooden cane. He tried to secure himself with his bare hand, but the wood of the cane hit right on his fingers and it only hurt more. For a moment he wondered, if everything was different, _normal_ , would he still be doing this? He wondered how it felt to him to watch his only son wince with the pain he was making him go through. 

"She did!" He never had that much courage to talk back to his father, but this time was different. His father never really crossed this line before, and therefore neither did Draco. Yes, he would occasionally poke him with his cane, hit him once or twice at a time, but that was the furthest he ever went. But now that this line had vanished, there was no reason for Draco to respect it. 

"If she did she wouldn't have left you!" He kicked him with every word that came out of his mouth, and he was only kicking harder with every word. "If she did she would've put a fight for you!" 

His physical pain overpowered almost every other thing in his mind. He no longer felt the pain of his mother's words in the letter, he was no longer scared, he hardly ever felt anything of what was around him and there was only the soreness spreading through his bones. But somewhere in the corner of his mind, he knew there was a bit of truth to his father's words, it felt worse than all his father's beating that up to one point he wished that his father keeps going, hoping that if he felt enough physical pain it would swallow the mental pain. 

"You have a few days to decide who you want to stay with. Make the right choice and stick to it." Lucuis walked away, breathlessly talking as if it took just as much effort from him. There was no choice to be made, obviously, his father did put two options out for him but deep inside forced him on one. 

"Get up." With these two final calm-sounding words, he marched away, letting the sound of his clicking cane echo through the empty hallway. 

Draco however, still lied there, motionless, as though he couldn't move, he _probably_ couldn't move. He had no control over himself, and he didn't wish to have any either. He sobbed, hearing himself get louder. Sobbing out of the pain that invaded his body swallowing him. Crying over the fact that his father was the one to cause his suffering. Crying for he started to suspect his mother's love for him. Crying cause he felt weak, like a lonely stick that could be broken with a breeze. He felt hollow on the inside, empty, like he was a dark cold sort of a night. 

Harry couldn't believe what he had just witnessed, and deep down he wished he walked away. 

About ten minutes afterwards, Harry could sense Draco walking away. He carefully watched him, from the corner where he hid, limping away with one arm around his stomach, while the other constantly traveled up to his face, wiping away his flowing tears with the edge of his sleeve. No matter how many times he wiped his cheeks dry, they still felt wet nonetheless, even though he was hardly crying by that time. 

Harry made sure his steps weren't heard as he followed behind Draco in silence. He seemed to be in a rush, as though haunted by his own shadow. It took Harry a bit of a moment to gather up the voice to speak, as he was still struck by what he got to see, and he knew for a fact that the blonde boy would rather die than talk to him in that very moment.

"D-Draco." His voice crumbled out, somewhere deep within him he knew where that was going, he knew that by speaking he earned himself another insult, but it was a different situation. He _saw_ what happened, and it wasn't the easiest thing to forget about, and he could imagine how devastated the boy was.

There was no response, as though his voice got lost in the walls of the hallway. Draco kept walking away with the exact same pace, without even turning back, which seemed to be meant.

"Draco, talk to me!" He half yelled, it didn't take that much of a shout to get his voice to sound like one; the empty hallway worked just fine getting his voice to sound louder than it was.

Draco stopped at last, without turning back to look at Harry who kept walking up to him. Harry knew well enough that he didn't dare turn to face him, he didn't expect him to anyway, for he knew that Draco Malfoy wasn't the one to be confident enough to show his tear-burnt face.

Once he was close enough, Harry yanked Draco by the arm, causing him to jerk away rather aggressively. He did see what happened but he did not get to see the damage it left behind. As his eyes scanned his face, he couldn't help but feel a strange quick sensation of pain crawling through his feet and up, the boy's face looked like ancient ruins. He looked as though he had lost all color, yet still his face had tints of red, lucent in certain spots. Around the edges of his cheeks there were prints of fingers, a deeper red than the rest of his face. The pale color of his eyes was muted by layers and layers of tears, or what's left of them, and they were red, like the aftermath of a raging fire.

"W-what happened?" He had to make his voice sound concerned as he knew what happened.

"Don't you ever learn?" Draco, after having had it of standing there in silence while Harry drew an image of the finest detail of his face in his mind, shoved Harry against a wall with so much force that it hurt, Harry was now aware of where this violent tendencies came from. "Why is it so hard for you to leave me alone for fuck's sake?!"

Even though he tried to hide it, to stuff it deep under nonexistent strength, Draco's voice still held a tone of pain, the cracks of agony could still be heard through it, and his eyes still glimmered with tears even with his frown.

They stayed like that for aeons it felt. Just like that, frozen with Harry's figure pressed tightly against the wall behind him, and Draco's figured pressed against him. He had his hand on his chest gripping on his red and gold tie a bit too firmly. Harry could see the red bruises on his knuckles. And it was unknown to Harry why he didn't even think of pushing him away. Their faces were close, maybe a bit too close that they could see their reflection in each other's eyes, and to Harry it felt as though Draco was trying to hold his breath. 

For way too long, their eyes refused to leave each other, hardly blinking that Harry's eyes felt dry, meanwhile Draco's ghostly pale eyes felt as though they were digging right into his soul, in somewhat of a threat. But the moment that followed, Draco's eyes finally decided to break the staring battle to look at something else. His eyes descended, traveled down to look at Harry's perfectly round and tinted lips, and his gaze softened. Draco had no idea what crossed his mind in that very second, but he knew it made him burn on the inside, and he hated how _good_ it felt. So, quickly regaining the roughness of his gaze, he pushed Harry away, abandoning him behind as he walked away after glaring at him one last time. He felt dizzy in a way. 

Harry's heart was a wildfire in his chest, and he wasn't exactly certain it came from being startled. 


	10. Nine

The two days that followed, Draco was hardly ever seen outside the slytherin dungeons.

After Draco left him to deal with the demons of his mind alone in the hallway the other day, and after it all happened just before his eyes, it felt to Harry as though he was standing in a different corner, looking at Draco. He never saw him as the same Draco five minutes before his father walked into Dumbledore's office again. For the past four years, painted in Harry's mind was the picture of a stone-cold Draco, a soulless figure of a guy so full of himself. The fierce look in his eyes felt like a natural, a thin wall that hid nothing behind. But then he heard him, he heard the pain rushing out through his voice. He saw him breaking, and the image of an iron bar Draco faded from his mind. He was hollow, as if every spirit was forced out of him, leaving him as nothing but a shell of a body. His eyes, at the hallway, glistening, fragile like thin glass, and it took someone who truly cared to see through the cracks of them, and it wasn't empty nothingness that lied behind them. He did realize it was merely a mask of egotism he shielded himself with, one he was forced to put on from the moment he was conscious enough to feel the world around him. 

He sat in bed that night, just like the two other nights before, and he looked around to find everybody drowning in a death-like sleep, the steady symphonic audio of their breathing was somewhat relaxing to listen to. His lips curved in a smile before his eyes fell back on the map in his hands. His eyes were stone-hard, heavy as if the weight of the world was forcing them shut as he sluggishly fought away sleep, and they felt dry, too dry to the point that a few tears wandered down his face in desperate attempt to sooth his eyes every now and then. But it being the third night in a row, he got used to it. He faced no trouble brushing it away to focus on the better thing he had in mind. 

A tiny pair of footsteps appeared moving, to Harry's delight. He traced the rough material of the parchment where the footsteps stopped for a part of the second, eager to know where they would settle tonight. It felt like a reluctant stroll, the way Harry saw it, as he would stop, in various places for a few moments before he was back moving, as though he was seeking a place where it felt like shelter. 

As much as he wished Draco was sleeping soundly in his bed, unbothered, Harry was glad to see the ink of the footsteps adorn the parchment, for unlike the two previous nights when he just stayed seated in his bed watching the footsteps leave the dungeons and roam aimlessly around the castle and wait for them to disappear into the dungeons again, he had something in mind. To admit it, it did feel stalkerish, but he had a good purpose behind it, a plan which he hoped would work to fulfill the purpose.

He glanced around the darkness of the room one last time, to make sure that none of them was conscious enough to feel him leave or feel his absence later. He climbed out of bed as slowly and as quietly as ever, feeling the cool wood of the floor warm up beneath his feet. He picked the closest thing to a clothing item he could see off the floor, which was a hoodie, and put it on just as quietly. Making his way toward the dormitory door, he glanced back again, praying that this wouldn't be something to regret later. He didn't exactly have the best feeling about it, following Draco, but it was a voice inside of him that insisted he did so. Seeing what he saw and knowing what he knew, he knew for a fact that it would very much keep him up all night if he ignored it, it could carve in his soul deeper to ignore it than to be insulted for trying. It wasn't one of those things he could brush off for someone else to handle, as he was the only one who knew, and it wasn't a cold matter to sleep on.

It was one frigid night, despite it being hardly mid September, the darkness and the frightening emptiness of the hallways seemed to lower the temperature even more, he wished he wore some more clothes. As he spread the map before him, he saw that by that moment the footsteps were pacing around the astronomy tower. He waited for a second, just in case the footsteps would walk away, but once he was certain they had settled, he knew where he was heading.

There he stood, Draco, facing the open space where the cold air rushed in, biting his cheeks. Every time he thought his tears froze on his cheeks, he could feel yet another lukewarm trace of a tear gently warm up the area where it slid. He didn't expect much, there nothing to come from staring at the big empty night sky, yet he hoped. He hoped to feel like there would be someone, company of a sort, something he can hold on to.

He wished to feel like there would be someone standing behind him when he falls, to know that there will be someone to collect his pieces and bring them all together while he's falling apart. It scared him to think that when he completely falls, when there's nothing of him left standing, he will be erased off, carried by the wind for there was no one who would hold on to his fragments. He felt adrift. Ironic, how he used show it off that his father was always there for him, yet it turned out he walked away from him before every other person. He never truly knew how it felt to have a friend, a real one, someone who didn't stick around because of his last name. And his mother, even if she had a shred of love for him, she was forced away from him. He was alone in the world.

He felt like he was being watched, like eyes digging in his back, but he reasoned the feeling was born from the fear of being caught outside after hours. He gave it no more thought than for a second, though he had to confess it was getting worryingly worse, closer to being real.

"D-Draco?" A chipped low voice came from behind, followed by a slight tap on his shoulder. He recognized that voice, and it both terrified him and elated him at the same time.

He turned back, and in the surge of a moment he threw his arms around the emerald-eyed boy, pulling him in to his chest with all the power he had that the other boy struggled to keep his balance. He wasn't thinking, and he didn't want to think, this could be his person in the world and he was inclined to hold onto him.

He didn't have high hopes, but it felt like heaven in the making when he could feel Harry's arms, though hesitantly, climb up his back, slowly letting his hands rub up and down his back as he sobbed in his neck. It had been quite some time since crying felt this comforting. There were so many thoughts and questions clashing to invade his mind, but he did well enough to block them away. Perhaps it was his exhaustion that built the wall in his mind, emptying it of even the mere thought of wanting to put on his strongest appearance. 

Harry, on the other hand, was rather puzzled at the blonde's actions to say the least. Though it worried him in a way, Harry felt a hint of relief dash through him for a brief moment. For once he wasn't shut out, he wasn't insulted, and deep down gratitude found a way in him for not staying in bed watching the map with a plain face. It was unlike Draco to act on his impulses, like he just did, or to let his vulnerability show in plain sight. It was alarming, clear as day that something was wrong, too wrong that Draco's long-worn vanity broke to it. 

"W-what is it Draco?" He said lowly, too lowly he thought the other boy didn't hear it, but putting in mind that his mouth was a bit too close to his ear, and the place being deadly quiet, he figured Draco heard him just fine.

Against his anticipations of being let go, Harry was pulled even deeper within Draco's arms. He could feel Draco's hands grabbing a handful of his hoodie on his back, his fingers burying themselves in the clothes as his clutch only grew tighter. It felt so peculiarly exultant, the warmth of Draco's heated body radiating against his own, he smelt like faded cologne. He never thought he'd feel such pain, such affliction wrenching his guts at the mere sight of someone else's pain. He could feel warm tears against the bare skin of his neck, and the sound of sobs muffled in his neck somehow had the sensation of touch, he could feel the voice on his skin, and it sent shivers down his spine in ways no other thing did. He so desperately wanted to pull him in closer to his chest, even closer, but his limps felt too feeble, powerless, as though they were filled with nothing but water. 

"I'm so tired." A few words broke through the sobs, breathless they sounded. "I'm just so tired." He echoed as if to confirm it. His voice grew louder, clear through the sobs that sounded like a resurgent hurricane. 

The next moment, he just stopped, paused as though he was forced to, and he broke their once tight clasp. It seemed to Harry that he was coming back to himself, waking up from the numbness of his mind. He looked away instantly, his gaze unfixed on any particular being, as if he was ashamed, or scared to show what hid within his eyes. His eyes looked like glass stained with the salt of his tears.

He leaned against the nearest wall his back could touch, and he let himself slide down the wall heavily until his body and the floor beneath him collided. Then he was nothing less than a mess of fast flowing tears, and his agonizing roar-like cries subdued the silence of the place around the two of them, no longer timid, but rather agitated, carrying along the fury that came with being so deeply hurt. He collapsed, his hands dug their way into his hair, and by looking at it, it felt as though he was going to rip his hair out. His forehead rested on his knees as he brought them closer to his chest. The look of defeat he showed was rather frightening, as it looked to be paving the road for something much more worse. 

Feeling the heat of panic rise within him, Harry felt like a boneless being. There was a certain kind of frailty to not knowing what to do at times, and that moment was one of those moments harry felt weakest. He knelt beside him, still lost in nonexistent options of how he could help. He came to realize as he looked deeper, there wasn't a thing for him to do, and Draco wasn't waiting for much of him anyway. In a normal case that would be relieving, to not feel like he has to do something for someone, this was different. 

"She left me! Just- just walked away!" His voice was getting sharp, it felt exactly like broken glass. Harry did have the faintest glimpse of who he was talking about, yet it still felt like someone had just punched him in the stomach when he heard his words.

He slowly pushed himself closer to the blonde, and carefully enveloped him with an arm of his, bringing him back to his chest, taking too much of caution in his movements, as he didn't want to scare him away, for he didn't know how he might react. The boy hardly showed anything close to a reaction, except for letting himself carelessly fall into Harry's embrace. 

"He took her away from me!" That very sentence drifted out of his lips many times, but every time it got lower, heavier for him to let out, and slowly it blended with the air, letting the sound of his aching cries take over once more. He was crying like a person with an open wound, as if out of physical pain, that resulted from being dry, Harry reasoned, of physical exhaustion as his lungs were drained flat, and his muscles reached a point where they felt like old rubber. 

Harry delicately brought Draco's head to his shoulder, in endeavors to hold him closer just like before. It took him a moment of disbelief, was it really the two of them, there alone in the dark, Draco Malfoy lying like a dead leaf in his arms, without neither of them minding it? It felt like a far fantasy no one saw coming. 

"Draco, if you want to talk about it, it- it's okay." He attempted to give any bit of help, and for a moment he lost all hope when Draco looked up at him, both his eyebrows arching and his lips slightly quivering. "It's fine if you, er, prefer not to talk about it. But if you do wish to speak, it's okay to tell me." He reassured as he felt the need to, after all they were enemies for years. 

"Talk about what? She's left all right. I lost the only glimpse of love I've ever had." His words came out in pieces, and it was left to Harry to put them together. 

"How does feel? To live without your mother?" As he had completely cried his body dry, Draco could finally put his words in order. He looked up at Harry like a hopeful child, his eyes failed to glimmer yet they still showed a childish kind of hope, just a glimpse of it. 

"I've never really known her, but her love saved me. And I'm pretty sure, no matter what's going around, her love is still somewhere for you to feel." Harry tried to sound as serene and as unfazed as he could possibly be, for he knew that was needed. A bit more of discomfort or uncertainty would only trouble the tide more. 

"Thank you." His words soon melted into the silence, yet still it felt hard to believe that _Draco_ was thanking him. There was so much more to know, so many questions that had yet to be asked, but Harry knew better than to press it. They hadn't built a stable ground beneath them, and anything could break the slim air they stood on. 

They let the silence heavily douse the place around them, taking them in as they stared forward with blank eyes. There was nothing, they felt nothing. It was the peace both of them starved for, it didn't feel exactly like peace, but it was a moment in which there was merely silence, smooth and light, and they couldn't ask for more. The cold was slightly creeping in again. 

"You should head back." Breaking the silence, Draco's voice was heavy, yet steady. It felt as though he was finally getting himself back in little pieces, regaining his sense of the world. His voice didn't have that hint of grunge he used to have whenever he talked to Harry, but if anything, Harry assumed it was only because of his exhaustion. 

"You too." Harry replied, trying to get his voice to sound anything similar to Draco. He had a certain feeling, closer to be being bad. He knew things didn't get any better for Draco in the matter of these few minutes, despite that he hoped they did, and he feared things would go back to how they used to be a few hours ago, feared that he will be shut out once more. 

He helped himself up, and then held his hand out to Draco who, surprisingly, took it, and with a bit of a struggle he was up on his feet again. He fixed his robes on his body just about as soon as he stood straight, and then let his hand reach to his face to wipe away the faded traces his tears left behind. 

"Uh- have a good night, Potter. I, uh, thank you." Draco rocked back on his heels. The words felt new to him, stumbling out of him as if he had just learnt to say them. In fact, he _had_ just learnt to say them, not the words themselves but to whom they were said. He felt childishly embarrassed, but embarrassment was a familiar companion tonight, he had his fair share of it. It was the ease that was new, the ease of thanking someone for help, knowing that _he'd been helped_.

Harry offered the slightest nod as a response, watching as Draco slowly and with a hint of hesitation made his way away, disappearing into the dark hallway in the matter of a minute. 


	11. Ten

_**TRIGGER WARNING: GRAPHIC SELF HARM**_.

As he lied in bed, like a statue built to stay still in place, he tried to find any hint of hidden beauty to waking up as heavy as a box of lead almost every morning. This very morning however, he woke up feeling exceptionally heavy, enough to pin his body down to his bed, as if the gravity of the whole world intensified in that very spot, pulling his body deeper towards the pit. His chest could hardly move up and down, and he felt trapped beneath something he couldn't push off with all the effort he gathered, leaving him there like a lifeless corpse, unable to move a single muscle and unable to find the desire to move at all. Hearing the distant and muffled chatter of various people, the thought of staying in that bed with his skin tightening felt a lot more inviting than seeing faces and hearing voices talk to him or about him. The mere thought of the day ahead and having to live it exhausted him. He hated his options. 

He knew there was something else to be done, an option a lot less strangling than the rest put on the table for him, yet he tried to roll it over in his brain until it fades out on its own. Deep inside he knew it'd linger, he knew his need for it would weaken him, and he knew he'd keep at least a part of it in his mind. Slowly giving up, he looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of anything else to think of, something else that would put that thought away, but there was nothing, if anything, his surroundings only made him starve for it a lot more than before. The excitement for it burnt him on the inside, with guilt for the most part, he didn't want to find pleasure in it, and he didn't want it to be his main go-to. He felt both exhilarated and frantic about the thought of it, like a child preparing to ask for a new present. 

He sat up on his bed, wondering how on earth it gave him the capacity to move one bit of him. His head was spinning, and it was like he had a stone for a head, it almost pulled him back right after he sat. After a battle against himself to regain his balance, he sat straight, and a atrocious feeling washed over him like ocean tides. His stomach was turning in anticipation and it felt strangely mixed, yet still even though he tried to think of how light it'll leave him feeling afterwards, guilt overflowed prior, as though there were dark figures of people hiding in the corner, their crowded whispers wiped him clean from every bit of thrill he had, and made him feel as though he was a blood thirsty freak of a sort. 

Expeditiously, he dug his hand under the mattress, in a hurry to find it, as he was rushed by the fear of being overwhelmed by that self-reproach. He felt the sharp tip near his fingertips, and with no hesitation he pulled it out. His head fell silent, there the good side of it took over as he observed the piece of broken glass in his hand. It was as if the sight of that slightly stained object in his hand created a shield around him, from his own thought, providing a feeling of safety he knew for a fact was false, he knew it was the danger he taught his mind to see as safety. 

He rolled up his left sleeve, tracing the older scars in admiration for a moment. At times he did hate to see the messy lines scattered around his inner forearm, it made him feel so much shame that he would wish to get out of the body he ruined. Yet at other times, he cherished them ever so dearly, he liked the comfort he felt just by knowing they were there in the times his world gets tight. There wasn't that many of them just yet, some areas were still left empty to welcome more, which was something he was beyond thankful for. 

He felt as the edged glass run slowly over his skin, leaving behind a vestige of biting pleasure in the areas where it sliced his skin open. He soughed at the feeling of his skin tissues being torn open, trying to take in all that he could of that mysterious pleasure, he enjoyed it so much it alarmed him, but his mind was far away, its voice was too distant to be heard. There was a certain complacency he felt while watching the blood slowly ooze out of him, as if shy at first that it took a little pinch to get the warm fluid running down his arm somewhat freely. There was a kind of beauty that captivated him every time at the sight of that deep crimson adorning the pale color of his skin. It looked so lively. Yet still it didn't make him feel any better, nothing that would last. To get his feet off the ground he needed more than a lonely cut, and he needed that floaty feeling to have the slightest will to carry on with his day. His mind demanded a bit more than a sole cut to go noiseless. 

But before he could engrave another line, a tentative-sounding knock on the door disturbed the tranquility of the room. He recoiled, and in the fright of the moment he couldn't get his mind to function. The least of his wishes was to be caught by a _slytherin_ , he knew slytherins well enough that to want to do his normal day to day life around them, let alone _this_. 

"M-Malfoy, you in there?" A softened feminine voice broke through the unsettled knocks. It seemed to do well dragging him back to his head. 

He quickly buried the red stained piece of glass under his pillow and charmed the blood off his arm, and with pain shooting through his whole arm, he struggled to pull his sleeve down again to cover his torn up arm. It was hellishly hot in the room around him, as though the flames of hell itself surrounded him, and by that moment he began to assimilate how lonesome he was, he finally came to see that the dungeons were already mostly empty and how there was almost nothing to be heard in his surroundings. He obhorred these moments of sudden realization. 

The door gently opened, a bit too carefully that one could hardly see it opening at all, and slowly, a dark haired girl peered through the tiny crack of the door. The sight immediately sent Draco into a state repugnance and he didn't care enough to hide it.

"Draco, I-" Pansy stood straight before him after she hesitantly made her way in. Her face tried to form a smile but all she could give was a little curve of her lip that mirrored her swelling discomfort. He gawked at her as she fidgeted with her fingers with his eyebrow arched up. But within a moment he looked away, the mere view of her around him felt like it was clutching on his guts, and it was like the walls around them were coming closer with every passing moment, until it felt like a diminutive box with every last bit of air drained out of it. "Can we talk, Draco, please?" 

"No. There's nothing the two of us can talk about." He rushed to shut her out just as soon as he heard her, and it was the matter of fact he truly didn't have anything to talk about with her as he would much rather keep the memory of it out of his mind's reach. He looked away, hoping to recapture the breath he lost when she walked in, and he sighed, forcing a bit more of voice into it to aver his aggravation. 

"Listen, Draco, I- I'm so deeply sorry." She proceeded, throwing what she'd just been told to the back of her mind. The lump in her throat made her sound as though she was choking on her own words, but even that was enough to get her a piercing glare from the corner of Draco's eye.

"Right, Pansy, is it because they charmed you into doing it? Because it wasn't something you willfully did?" He was burning on the inside, and it reflected in his voice as he bothered not to hide a bit of it. No matter what he did to block that vision of her triumphant smirk, it still remained ineffaceable in his mind. Throughout all the days that had passed he tried to give it a reason he'd believe, he tried to make it feel like it was the right thing to do, but every time he ended empty handed.

"Draco, I am to blame for my actions, and I am fully aware that what I did to you was absolutely treacherous, and to this day I can't really give myself a justification for it and I can't forgive myself for it. But please, I know it's hard, I know it takes some effort, please do consider burying it all away." The way his eyes perforated through her made it a lot harder for her words to sound settled.

"I'm more than willing to be by your side from this moment forth. I guess you can say that I didn't unerringly understand how crushed you are, I focused on one side and completely forgot the rest, but here I am now, so please. "

He lost his sense of safety as he watched her tardily make her way to his bed where he sat. The conversation was already bad enough when she was a few feet away, but he appreciated that security he had. He squirmed farther into the bed uncomfortably. By that moment his indignation had vanished and faintly turned into that increasing fear that slowly spread through him like venom, it shook his core to think that at one point she'd get close enough to see what he hid beneath his sleeve. His cut itched for his attention. 

"Am- am I supposed to just trust you again now? Because you said you're sorry?" A surge of bitterness overloaded his voice, weighing down every word he said. But to admit it, he could not waste a bit of effort on hiding it, if anything, it gave him quite the satisfying feeling as it for once made him sound strong. 

"I'm asking you for a single chance, after that you're free to do as you please if I play false." She did sound careful with her words, as if she was trying to surround him with comfort enough for him to trust her, she kept her voice low and staid with a softened tone, but it was all thrown to the ocean. As she carefully sat to his left in an assuring manner, it made hundreds of sirens in his head go off, he felt alarmed and suddenly his once dull body was burning to move, to pace around that tiny space of a room like a bird set free. 

She gently tried to get his hand in hers, but as soon as he could feel her hand touching his, he jerked his hand away rather aggressively, feeling a striking pain swallow his whole arm as a result. His teeth dug in his bottom lip, and few tears rushed to the edges of his eyes. Knowing full well that she probably had the slightest glimpse of it, and that it would take a miracle for her to be oblivious, he felt the air leave his lungs all at once, and every inch of his skin tingled as if every nerve in his body worked at once. 

"L-leave, Pansy." He so desperately wanted to speak, to sound anything near coherent, but there was not an adequate amount of air in him to carry his voice to be heard. He saw the way her lips parted in preparation to say something, but he just couldn't have much of it. "Just leave!" 

He wished to fall back to sleep, for a really long time, as long as it would take for everything to melt into nothing but an evancent thought of what had once happened. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's September, and September is suicide prevention month :). If you are planning to put an end to it, please don't. I know it's hard and I know what you're going through isn't easy, but just know that there are people here who are truly willing to help, such as myself, and some others who share the experience. If you need any help, please don't hesitate to ask for it, I'm always here to offer all the support I can give. And remember, you're strong, stronger than you think. Self harm isn't an answer either, so don't go for it. Once again, I know it's hard, and you might think it's impossible, but there are countless ways to healthily cope with things, those you have to consider first before going to harm yourself. And know, you're worthy of all the love in the world :).


	12. Eleven

Pleasing it was, to walk the empty hallways after breakfast. Draco enjoyed that lightness in the air when there was hardly any voice to be heard, the air he breathed was light as it wasn't loaded with crowded words and voices in different tones, it didn't take effort to welcome every breath in. It somehow made the weather feel better, gave it quite the relaxing breeze, and the beauty of it was better left unknown. He would occasionally pass by a couple of other students, but those countable few didn't seem to care for his figure roaming around them, and for once it was beyond relieving to find others with any other form of interest than himself.

In the far distance, his eyes fell on two figures approaching, and seemingly from afar they were deep into a groundless hole of a conversation. The red head, Weasley, walked around with his hands in his pockets, he was the one too confident of his rightness it seemed. While in constrast, Harry seemed to be too invested in proving him wrong. It was quiet, which gave him space to think, and by that time having his mind light enough to process thoughts and feelings felt new.

He felt the need to walk away as he watched them march closer in his direction, he wanted to be hidden from Harry's sight while he still could, and he couldn't exactly put his finger on why it was too urgent that he goes before he's seen. He had no problem seeing Harry, or even having a settled conversation with him, which left him lost in why it urged him so badly to just walk in the opposite direction.

His chances slipped from between his fingers. The messy haired boy looked up at him, and in that very moment he looked to completely abandon that conversation of his, distracted from it as his mind traveled to Draco. And his face went bright, as though a tide of positive emotions washed over his face. He couldn't ignore the memory of the night before, the sense of hands rubbing up and down his back as a gentle gesture. It was almost as if he was scared to be given the comfort of last night again.

He could ask himself a thousand questions, as the night was a wonder in itself, something he thought of as an impossibility, something he himself ascertained to keep impossible. But ahead of all the questions that wandered around his head was the question of why, not why did Harry choose to offer a hand of help, by that point he had come to acknowledge the fact that not everyone was as vile as he was. The question was why did he let Harry in, how was it imaginable for him to open his heart though it was but the tiniest crack, for even through that slipped a bit of what he hid, what he preferred to keep covered. He viewed that as weakness, and the thought itself, the thought of that little slot widening bit by bit until it reaches the fullest took the color from his face.

The two boys walked towards him, Harry's speed forcing Ron to catch up. He stood still, his body felt like a tree trunk at the sight of the two gryffindors walking up to him, Harry with a growing smile of something close to relief and behind him walked Ron with confusion eating up his face. He did have an overwhelming feeling that he should just turn back and walk away as if he didn't catch sight of them, and in that very moment he wished it was crowded. But despite that shrieking desire in him, he stood still in place, as if welcoming them, as he didn't want anything to raise a shred of suspicion in the air.

"Er, Ron, you go now, I'll be there in a few." Ron's eyes scanned Harry's face without a response, questions running in the fold of his face. Then he stared fixedly at Draco in anticipation of a cheap insult, but both of them surrounded each other with utter silence, as it was Draco who felt an insult approaching, since he excepted Weasley to already know what had happened to him just like the rest of the school.

With his silent questions left unanswered, and they slowly drowned in the heavy silence of the air, Ron plodded by Draco after giving Harry one last glance, it was almost as if he was too scared to leave his friend alone with the blond.

"Draco, hey!" His late greeting held a surge of refreshment, his words came out in a tone bright enough to gulf the two of them with a strange energy.

"P-Potter!" He rubbed his hands together as he tried to wear his best smile, which only ended up as a weird looking overstretched grin. It would be a lie to say that he could feel how tense his face was a few moments ago. He hadn't the faintest clue what his actions were expected to be, or what his words should come out like, it was all too new to him to know how to react to it.

"How are you, after last night?" That lucent look on his face altered to a more concerned version of itself. His eyes looked soft, just like the surface of water, equally mellow, and having the same blinks of light that adorn it at the kiss of sunlight, the bits of concern didn't seem to trouble the peace within his eyes. "You weren't here for breakfast, so I just wanted to make sure you're well."

"Yeah, I just slept in, you can say." He breathed out and forced it to sound like a chuckle, he cringed at himself so hard for it, and deep inside he wished he could just shut up. He lied, he couldn't see the need to tell Harry anything close to the truth really. The lie burnt through him as it brought back the fresh memory of this morning, it had to be the earliest he woke up in days. He most of all wanted to believe that lie, for it to become the truth in his mind, replacing what actually happened and wiping his mind clean of it.

"I got you this." After a floating moment of silence, Harry reached to his loosely hanging bag, digging through the mess he managed to shove there for his desired item. Then, within a minute, he pulled his hand out again, with a shiny green apple resting in it. "You really like those, I figured."

"How did you-" Looking at the round fruit which now rested in his hand, it gave Draco quite the amusingly light feeling to think that Harry had observed him closely enough to know that tiny bit about him. He for some reason felt as though he had just won something, something he'd been aiming to win for ages, and it overflowed him with pride that he couldn't hide that conquering smile that crept over his face slowly. That feeling was his favorite.

"One could tell, I assume." Heat rose to Harry's cheeks, giving them a tender shade of pink. By _one_ he meant himself, it wasn't that explicit to anyone who didn't keep a studying eye on Draco. With that thought in mind he felt himself shrink at the fact that he might had been a bit interested in a few of Draco's details, but he reasoned it was merely because they had been sworn enemies for as long as they'd known each other, and one has to keep a careful eye on their enemies.

"So um, where are you meant to go?" He hurried to change the subject when silence took over, seeing as it was a chance that came in the time he needed it most.

"Charms." Draco shrugged rather carelessly. Charms was never a favorite of his, and he couldn't truly wrap his mind around how anyone enjoyed it at all. The thought of the class ahead gave boredom a way into him, and just by thinking that he would have to just sit with random students flicking their wands around probably incorrectly made him feel closer to being alamort.

"Brilliant! It's on my way, want me to walk you there?" Draco needed a moment to consider that offer. Going to charms was only a cover up for his true destination. He didn't lie though, he did plan on going to charms, but that would be after he got the chance to finish that business of his which got put in cold storage earlier this morning.

"Sure." He replied, hesitation eating up his voice. He hadn't another answer for he didn't exactly expect Harry's offer, he didn't imagine he'd have to use something beyond that cover up. He did need it so awfully, he couldn't deny that the singular cut on his arm was nowhere near enough to keep the day running without the overwhelming urge to drop himself off the astronomy tower. But no matter how bad he needed it, there was no way he'd give Harry the slightest bit of idea about what lied behind that weak cover of charms class, so it felt like the best option in hand to just go with every offer Harry puts on the table for him, for saying no would only sound dubious and he couldn't afford that.

In response, Harry nodded ever so slightly, preparing to walk the two of them away as he came to notice that Draco was too frozen in his thoughts to move on his own.

"Th-thank you, Potter, for last night." Acting on a sudden impulse, he found his hand reaching to the other boy's hand, an act he seemed to fail to control, his fingers gently hooked around Harry's for a passing part of a second, the touch against his fingertips felt a new born's touch, soft and fragile in a way. His mind soon recovered the lost control over his hand, and he immediately dropped Harry's hand. He flustered, his cheeks began to sting as his body felt like a heater.

"Well you're welcome, we've got to get going, you're late enough as you are." In a hit of luck, Harry brushed away his very peculiar behavior as if it never happener, though Draco did suspect that it still lingered in his mind as a big question mark.

He strode away with audiable steps, and Draco quietly followed behind. His legs felt like iron as the desire to just disappear off the face of earth bloomed within him, he was beyond thankful it was only them two, yet still it shouldn't had happened, there wasn't a valid explanation for it. He tried to swallow the lump that sat right in his throat, wishing that things would just go back to being the same as they were in the olden days, when he and Harry only flooded each other with insults, that felt better, it felt real.


	13. Twelve

**_TRIGGER WARNING: GRAPHIC SELF HARM_ **

  
The warm yellow light from the Great Hall and the hallways he walked through faded into darkness in his eyes as he rushed into the bathroom where only a cold silver ray of moonlight adorned. Scattered and high-pitched voices from the Great Hall sank into the quietness of the half dead hallways, and by the time he was swallowed by the dimness of the bathroom, those voices were merely a trace left in his mind. That rather quick transition was much needed, but he wished it made a difference, he wished he could feel the tranquility he was surrounded by, but that simple wish was put out of his reach by his own head, as it wasn't any less tranquil than the Hall.

His hands clawed at a black envelope, the once neat envelope couldn't maintain its graceful fold against the strain of his shaking fingers, which had a lot more strength than his weary mind could possibly control. He could feel the tiny droplets of sweat in the palm of his hand blending with material of the paper in his hand, as it absorbed it welcomingly.

 _Who do you choose?_ The words, finely written, burnt through his eyes, effortlessly occupying a spot where every letter sat heavy in his mind as he read that letter again, foolish enough to have the hope of a child that he might have missed something, that it was only the fear of the letter arriving that tricked his eyes into seeing the words as the words he feared, and that in actuality some sweetness hid between those few words. There was no ground to build his hopes on, the written words lingered just like how they used to be when his eyes felt on them for the first time, the melancholy dark ink stained the yellow paper just as bitterly.

He leaned forward against the sink, letting the paper drop onto the floor as if it was too heavy for him to hold for much longer. For a moment, he just kept his eyes shut as tightly as they could that it hurt, refusing the urge to open them again as he felt himself a step away from pouring out, all of him, everything he felt was a blinking second away from flooding out of him. He felt like a volcano, his irascibility well mixed with the agony that was aroused by the memory of every moment throughout the last few weeks felt like active lava inside of him, painfully searing to the point that he felt the need to let it erupt. He didn't want to, he didn't want to sit in a dark corner and cry his eyes dry, for the longest time he thought that grousing his pain out to the walls until his lungs ache would help, but upon doing it over and over for days, it lost its charm, and became nothing but physically draining himself without a result he could feel. He wished to close his eyes for long enough for it to all go away, somehow melt away within him, or find away for it to flow out noiselessly.

Out of tiredness, he opened his eyes, questioning his purpose of fighting. He was exhausted, if exhausted was the word suitable enough to fulfill it. He looked up, his eyes meeting their reflection in the mirror before him, shallow they looked, as if behind them lied an empty space of darkness. He no longer felt like a volcano on its edge, rather he felt like one that had already erupted, he felt void in the most excruciating of ways, almost as if he could feel it within him, he could feel himself being like a cold dark tunnel without an end on the inside, and he so desperately wanted fill it.

In another moment of staring at his wilted self in the mirror, it felt as if his misery was leaking out of him like black fog, hovering over his head, almost as though it filled him on the inside that it started pouring out of him. That darkness in his face threw him in a state of agowilt as it appeared ever so vividly, it wasn't only the sight of his face looking like a withered plant left in the dark, it was also the thought of everyone being able to see it just as evidently as he could.

The sound of running water gently disturbed the the silence, being the first sound to be heard in ages. He gathered a handful of the icy liquid in the palms of his hands and blotched his face with it, feeling as the heat of his body slowly mixed with the coldness of the water, and for a moment that didn't last, it eased him in a way. He lifted his gaze to the mirror before him rather briskly, and that murk halo still rested there without a change. His own skin was tightening on him, he felt trapped within his body to the point in which he felt as if his soul was itching to leave.

What happened next was blocked from his mind, he couldn't feel it nor could he control it, almost as if he was being controlled by something beyond his knowledge. He was only awoken by a sensation of pain like fire eating the skin of his knuckles. The mirror was now in pieces, he could no longer see the halo for he could no longer see himself looking back at him, which felt strangely satisfying, like a goal he achieved. His fingers were tainted by the deep scarlet blood, with the areas that were lightly smeared and the reddening knuckles, his hand looked like a work of art. It was quite deiform to look at, yet still it terrified him.

He kept his eyes glued to that one piece of shattered glass on the sink, taking the shape of a triangle with the edges smoothly sharp. He could fight that urge, and if he tried hard enough he could overpower that need in him, he could push it away to the back of his mind and leave it there, but did he really want to? There wasn't much to stop him, nothing good he looked forward to keeping his head straight for, on the contrary, those constant surges of self despise and heavy internal emptiness weighed him down, turned him numb in a way that he could only feel them, and that piece was his way out, temporarily.

Not wanting to think about it for much longer, he pulled his sleeve up, wasting no time in looking at the older ones as they weren't that much of a sight at that time, he didn't want to _see_ them, he wanted to _feel_ them. His fingers clutched tightly around the broken piece as though it was a ray of hope that he feared to lose in his hand. He ran it over his inner forearm, slowly he started before dashing it across. He could feel that cleft vein pulsing, and leisurely he felt as the adrenaline spread through him. At that point, the jabbing pain only lasted for a brief moment, and soon enough there was no more of it, which demanded yet another cut. And so, he traced the piece over his forearm again, and then repeating that same pattern over and over until he could see the blood immersing the spot like a puddle.

He lost count, not that he cared to keep track of how many times he felt the edges of the piece tear through him anyways. For all he knew he felt closer to ludic every time he engraved another cut, felt the adrenaline piling within him one bit more every time. When he figured that it was enough, that he got to fulfill his minimum need, he decided to help himself for one last cut before calling it, not wanting to have any sort of undesired accidents. He gently pressed the edge against his skin and drew a line, he couldn't help whimpering in pain, this one had more pain that pleasure to him and he couldn't quite figure out why, but watching the blood rush out of him like a cataclysm in the sea, he came to realize that this one went deeper than his liking, which gave him one more reason to stop.

He watched as the gelid water placidly blended with blood into a pinkish colored liquid and slowly hissed at the pain it caused. For a moment, he studied his set of twenty uneven cuts with something far from admiration, the sight of them sent him into a cold sweat. By that time, he was quivering like a stick in the wind. Coming to see and comprehend what he had done took him into a whirlpool of foreboding. For once, the sight of blood adorning his almost colorless skin didn't amuse him, instead it took his breath away, and he suddenly felt frozen.

He never needed someone to be there and talk to him as much as he did in that very moment, he wanted to hear a voice of a human saying any scribble of words to him, he wanted to feel life surrounding him. However, he was beyond grateful that he wasn't followed into the bathroom, specifically by Harry. But now, as he stood like a lonely tree in an abandoned land, he so badly wished to feel the presence of someone, someone who had the capacity to provide a sensation of comfort, perhaps he needed that a lot more than the raging cuts now.

His vision started blurring gradually, everything looked misty, covered by a thin layer of white, pain was creeping into his eyes. He could hardly feel his feet, he felt as if he was floating, as though there was no ground beneath his feet. There was an ongoing peep in his ears, and he chuckled at the thought that this could be his heart echoing in his ears again, except it had stopped. His fingers felt full, heavy like he had stones at the tips of his fingers, the broken piece of the mirror dropped to the floor as his fingers loosened, and shattered into two more pieces. He could feel his body pulling him back, like two large hands hauling him back with force that took away his balance, it felt as though he was standing on the edge of a groundless pit.

He presumed that it was for the best he leaves, tries to find his way out of the bathroom and back into his bed before he crashes there where everyone could see. And so, with that thought in mind, he charmed the floor clean of the few drops of blood, and put the fragments of the mirror back together. He didn't know where his feet landed, there was no floor wherever he stepped, which led him to constantly trying to avoid nonexistent holes in the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it's my birthday, I'm 18 now :)


	14. Thirteen

As the class was over, Draco was done fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve.

People started chattering their way out of the room, and gradually it got loud, after a good hour and a half of almost complete quietness. By that point he was the only one still seated, where was he to head to if he were to get up and leave? What was there for him to do but to stay stuck in his seat and occupy his mind with anything and everything? So he sat there motionlessly, not quite comfortably, but as days went by, less and less eyes cherished the sight of him, the water of what happened to him was getting cold, which in more ways than one was truly delightful. He let the thought of what to do next sink in his mind, as the times to come had a lot more essential matters for him to busy his mind with.

_Who to choose?_ He still hadn't written back to his father, and he knew his father was turning into a bundle of fire sparks awaiting for a reply as he sat there thinking. He most definitely could give the whole world if it meant that he'd be anywhere far from that awful excuse for a father, but his mother was nowhere for him to choose. She all of a sudden stopped writing to him, he waited for her owl every early morning at the window, but every time he walked away with his hands empty. Last time he wrote to her, knowing by heart that he'd be getting something comforting back, was when his father left him in the hallway with bruises all over his torso, and after that, he never saw his mother's owl. He knew nothing about her whereabouts, he knew next to nothing about her new life in fact, so choosing her was like choosing to be adrift in the wind, to be wayward and lost, choosing her was like choosing nothing. His father had quite the habit of giving hell to those who go for anything other than what he wished.

Cutting his train of thought, a chair in front of him was pulled back in a quick manner, and he watched as Pansy dropped herself loosely on the chair she pulled for herself. He did have an eye to notice how she faced a bit of a trouble looking at anything but him throughout the earlier hour and a half, and her eyes did signal an itching desire to talk to him in the nearest time that fits, judging by the gaze of her eyes, which seemed to be something of concern and distress, a kind of fear, or perhaps it was guilt. Her eyes were a puzzle he didn't care enough to solve. Oh how he wished he was mistaken.

"Draco, we need to talk." She sounded as though she was in quite the rush. He let out the vast breath his lungs had just welcomed, and rolled his eyes, meaning for her to see his annoyance. What would go wrong if he just got up and left? "There's something absolutely important that you deserve to know, I can't keep it from you for much longer."

"Pansy, what part of I absolutely don't care are you having trouble understanding? There's nothing that I need to know from you. What is it that I should do to keep you away from me?" His eyes never met her eager ones while he talked. On usual basis, he'd do anything to know whatever anyone was keeping, he'd like to know all he could, this time was entirely different. He'd like to know whatever he could when he could trust the person saying it.

"It's Crabbe and Goyle!" Her eyes were shut tight as though she had to squeeze the words out of her as she spoke. One hand was curled into a fist beside her face, she looked like she was a breath away from exploding and she held herself together with duct tape. Her statement didn't fail to draw a puzzled look on Draco's face, but it wasn't enough to get him to grow interested in whatever she had to say. "It's Crabbe and Goyle, they did all that to you, they asked me to help and I, er, did. Ever wondered how suddenly the whole school knew everything?"

"How?" He so badly wished to be surprised, he wished for the news to have an impact on him but it didn't, as he already expected such thing, he wasn't that much of an idiot to not see it coming from the people who finely enjoyed the struggle of others, there was no valid reason for them not to turn against him at the end of the road. It wasn't surprise or shock that he felt, he felt rather enraged, not because they dared do him like that, but because the memory of his father at the hallway paid a visit to his mind again, remembering that his father mainly came to see him thinking that he was the one who let the word slip. It brought back the sting of his father's hand smacking him across the face again and he could almost see the hell in his eyes again.

"I'm sorry I kept this from you all this time," She breathed out every last bit of air she had in her, and her forest colored eyes finally opened, showing somewhat of a soft look in them, not of sympathy but of nervousness.

"While you were staying in the hospital wing after your fever attack, a letter came, addressed to you but without mentioning whom it was sent from. Goyle suggested we open it, as much as I told him not to, he wouldn't listen to a word I said. He insisted, claiming that he was rather concerned after noticing your bizarre behavior, he said and I quote ' _he's the same on the outside but nothing like himself on the inside, it's like he's possessed or something_ '. However , I highly doubt that was his leading intention, he looked strangely keen to open that letter."

"So we read it, maybe more than a single time as it didn't quite solve the mystery, if anything, it made it about a million times more bewildering, meaning it wasn't even close to enough for Goyle, it only made him burn to know more. It was from your mother, we later came to figure that out, and it said something about wanting to come back and hold you one last time, to keep safe for she knew you'd only be your father's favorite when he needs to put out his fury. Quite frankly, I grew truly concerned, being lost while knowing something extremely serious is going on, and I'd say I was the only one feeling so, the two only grew mischievously curious."

"So, Goyle came up with a plan in which we charm you in your sleep to get you to talk, for we knew you weren't to say a single word if we asked you. I only agreed to go along with the plan because I was alarmed beyond what I can tell you, I wanted to make sure I can help in any possible way. And so, we found our way into the hospital wing that night, and did what we did. I didn't foresee it being anything like it was, so I unreasonably felt angry, and as I think about it now, I don't see why I felt the way I felt. It wasn't only me who felt that way, but it was only me who decided you no longer deserved peace for it, Crabbe and Goyle simply decided to cut ties with you."

"Why am I meant to believe any of that?" He was shooting her with a continually sharpening glare with the corner of his eye. He could hardly feel the way his eyebrow was arched too high up as he very carefully listened with a plain face without a change. He wasn't anything close to ill tempered, all that she said didn't really make him feel the things it was meant to, as he had yet to belive a word she said. He had no reason to consider anything she said true, even though it was entirely thinkable.

"Here." She ever so slowly, almost hesitantly, pulled an already opened and folded again letter and placed it on the desk before him without having the nerve to look up at him. She was shrinking smaller and smaller with each passing minute. He eyed the piece of paper put before him, he feared to see it in a way, hoping that there would be nothing to prove her right, there would be nothing to give truth to her words, but the sight of it shattered those simple hopes of his.

He decided against reading the letter, keeping it for another time when he was all by himself. Despite hating to see it, it was the last trace of his mother, the only trace that wasn't a mere memory.

"How could you do that!" He spat when it all slowly crept to his mind, when it all felt real to him. He felt loaded with himself, his lungs full of thick air that he couldn't breathe, blood running like fire within him. Somewhere in his mind, he was starting to blame himself for sleeping, a part of it was on him in a way, and that thought stuck in his mind only fueled him more.

"It keeps me up all night, and I know apologizing doesn't help either of us but still, I'm so truly sorry, Draco. If it helps, I only did it out of worry in the first place." Following her honeyed statement, they fell into deep, awfully distressing silence. He could feel her eyes burning through him in search for something to ease her mind, and she knew it was only a wild goose chase. His eyes remained fixed on the floor outside his desk, with a frown forming heavy on his face. He could hardly feel the way his teeth dug through his bottom lip, chewing on it rather violently, until a metallic taste spread in his mouth.

"I trusted you, of all people. I assume I'm to blame for it." He gravelly broke the silence when it was too heavy for both of them to bear. He decided that their conversation had reached an end, she said what needed to be said, and if he were to stay there for any longer she'd have nothing to say but to shower him with apologies, her feeble reasons and her crushing remorse, and he hadn't much desire to deal with any of which. So he stood up, feeling as her eyes followed his body like a pair of toddler eyes. He grabbed the letter that sat in between them for a while, and made his way towards the door, hoping that she wouldn't try to stop him.

"Oh and, I would indeed appreciate it if you never tried to talk to me again, no matter how important you think it is or how I deserve to know it. I think I earned that after everything you've done." He dictated at the door frame, facing outside. And with that, he found his way out the the hallway where the air was much lighter, up in his head debating if he was fit enough to attend his next class, or if he felt like gulping a whole flask of sleeping potion and sleeping all through the day.

He was so full of his exasperation, and within it lied hints of pain, powerful enough to crush his already worn out being. However, it wasn't scorching him to let it out, he was alright letting it surge and swirl inside of him, he was used to it enough to know how bury it deep until he could no longer feel any of it.


	15. fourteen

With the map resting wide open in his hands, Harry most definitely felt foolish and extremely dumb, standing there before a massive wall waiting for it to open at his desires. But he knew what lied behind that stiff wall. He shut his eyes, and he pictured the pale blond boy in the darkness in his eyes, hoping to find him behind that wall.

"Mischief managed." He whispered with a small voice under his breath, and slowly the lines of ink faded into the yellow parchment as if they never existed.

He could hear the stone moving against itself, raucous sound broke the silence of the night and he so hard wished he could it stop it, in fear of anyone hearing it, despite knowing that it was half impossible to find someone awake roaming the castle this deep into the night. Elysian shapes were beginning to engrave themselves on the once plain wall, taking the form of an arch, until at last it formed a full door, after seemingly ages of praying ever so tightly for the noise to turn into silence again.

Before he could reach for the door to open it, Harry took the largest breath he could, aiming to welcome in as much air as it would take to drown that sense of nervousness in him. It happened every time, whenever he planned on having any sort of conversation with Draco, he would sink in his own hesitation and uneasiness, as though he was one bit too scared to say something out of place, something that would make Draco only despise him more. This time, however, he wasn't hesitant, he didn't have thoughts of turning and heading back to his bed, he _wanted_ to be here, he just had to make everything up in his mind, so it all goes as flawlessly as could be.

He wasn't on _good terms_ with Draco, but he knew for a fact that things weren't how they used to be, Draco _wasn't_ who he used to be. He enjoyed that calmness, that peace he and Draco had somehow managed to achieve for now at least, and he was beyond willing to make the best of it, and though he'd hate to admit it, he actually found a certain kind of ease when Draco was around, without a fight, when _he_ was really there, bare by Harry's side without his cover of ego, if only that tenderness wasn't born of ache.

He did catch sight of Draco rushing to the exit of the Great Hall the night before, flames coming out of his face as he tried to trap as much as he could within himself. He saw the way his facial features tightened as he read a mysterious piece of a letter, knowing that whatever that paper hid had planted a severe sort of pain within him. Harry could hardly hold himself in place without running after Draco, everyone sitting around him must had sensed him burning as he watched the blond leave. He knew Draco ran off for a reason, he wasn't that much of a git to deny the boy the space he needed to process just because he wanted to know. And following the footprints that had just faded a minute ago, he figured Draco had had enough space with himself, and it was safe to check up on him.

The room reeked of fresh paint, a strong chemical odor overwhelmed him, tickling his nose just about as soon as he walked in. His nose wrinkled and he gently waved his hand before his face, hoping to get a bit of air that was clean enough to breathe. As his eyes wandered around the room, he found tens of canvases standing, lined over the walls and other objects. Some of them were only plain white cloth, yet to be used, while others had all sorts of drawings on them. His eyes randomly fell on a full canvas, and it didn't fail to captivate him almost at once. It was strangely pleasing to look at, regardless of the hint of sadness to it. It held the drawing of a fountain of a sort, taking the shape of an angel painted in faint gray, her wings spread a bit behind her as the bucket in her hand poured water into the base where she stood. What looked like dark vines were growing on the statue, but between those vines were tiny little pinkish flowers, adorning certain places where they grew. And behind that fountain lied a few trees and then a huge black building, he let himself assume it was the manor. He for some reason had quite the urge to run his fingers over the lines where the constrat changed, but he kept himself from it.

In a bit of a distance, he spotted the pale figure of Draco, giving him his back with a half blank canvas before him, judging by the way he seemed to focus on it, Harry could tell he was reaching a dead end with his painting. He was shirtless, that caught Harry's attention a bit more that he'd like, and his pair of trousers hung an inch below his waist. _He was a lot paler than he had expected._ He fiddled with the brush in his hand, gently biting the tip of it as he took a step back and eyed his unfinished draft in a bit of frustration. Then, as if he had been sent a message of some sort, he ran his pinky over something, wiping it away or spreading it over, Harry wouldn't know, but that little gesture seemed to give the blond some satisfaction at last. Harry swallowed, it wasn't something he got to see every day. The view gave off a sort of peace he had never imagined to feel with Draco.

"Didn't know you could paint." He spoke, for a moment he could say he wasn't aware he spoke. His nervousness vanished in him at the pleasant sight of all the paintings. As he looked in Draco's direction, he saw how the boy flinched as he turned to face him, almost dropping the brush and the palette of colors that rested in his hands.

The sight of him was growing rather alarming to Harry as the blond was fully turned to face him. His eyes traced the bruises, spots of deep purple scattered around his abdomen, radiant against his bloodless skin, with the edges turning slightly yellow as a sign of healing. But that wasn't the worst of it, it didn't surprise him to see those marks, even though he wished to not see them. It wasn't until his eyes fell on his arm that Harry started to look entirely dreadful. He paled at the sight of lines inscribed on the inside of his forearm, messy they were and piled upon each other. His insides were continually shrinking, and he could no longer look at Draco without losing his ability to breathe. He could hear the other boy mumbling some things as a result of being startled, but he couldn't clearly make out his words.

"What are those, Draco?" His voice only sounded like a brittle breath as he so hard fought away a burning urge to collapse down in sobs. He tried to take in as much air as his lungs could allow in, hoping that it would drown that urge, it didn't help much.

"Paintings...?" Harry was almost too sure Draco knew exactly what he was talking about, it would take a moron to not figure that much out. It was as evident as the light of day that he was trying to mask it by acting completely oblivious because the answer he had wouldn't be truly gratifying to both, despite them already knowing it.

"No Draco," he was losing one bit more of his strength, both physical and emotional, with every passing second, he hated talking about it just as much as Draco did, but Draco seemed to enjoy extending their conversation. His feet took him closer to the blond with cumbersome steps, his legs felt like two crappy built columns in a hurricane. He pointed to Draco's arm, watching as his pair of gray eyes traveled all the way down to where his finger directed. " _Those_."

"Oh, those." Draco breathed out, his eyes suddenly ever so interested in everything in his surroundings except Harry. His face went pale to a fault, as if every last drop of blood was drained out of him as he used his other hand to subconsciously cover the mess of cuts. "Well, er, it's a burn."

"I'm not an idiot, Draco! I know what these are!" His voice came out with a pitch louder than his liking. He was starting to question why he asked in the first place, he knew what these were, and by heart he knew that Draco wasn't to tell the truth of his life depended on it. He marched towards the other boy with rather huge steps now, driven by a sudden burn in his gut.

"Highly doubt that idiot part, Potter." He commented, trying to force a hint of sarcasm into his statement. It was merely an attempt that failed to slide off their heavy main topic. "And if you're so smart, why ask?"

When he was close enough, Harry grabbed the boy's pale arm, and his action was followed by a muffled hissing-like voice escaping Draco's pressed lips. He scanned that spot, his eyebrows meeting each other in a frown. The beat of his heart was only growing louder in his ears as his muscles tensed up at the sight, he suddenly couldn't swallow a rather large lump sitting in his throat. He felt a strange sensation of fear, not of the view itself but for Draco, for it hurt beyond his imagination to see Draco's pain reaching the point where it reflected itself on his body at last. He saw the cuts before his eyes with various stages of recovery, some of them looked to be weeks old while others seemed raw as though they were only created a few hours ago. If there was one thing too clear about them, it would be that they're nowhere close to a burn of any sort.

He looked back up at Draco, attempting to meet his gaze, but his eyes weren't still for him to meet, yet still he could see the muted eyes showing what looked like disgruntle. He was biting on the inside of his cheek, and his breath was too hard to capture as he was so fully aware of his breathing. But regardless of all, his arm remained rest in Harry's hand, he didn't bother jerking it away or really attempting any kind of movement away from Harry, which was quite the surprise.

"Why?" That one word was loaded with too much that it hardly made any sound as it came out, but it was fit enough to be a wake-up call to Draco, who took his arm back from Harry's loose grip once he heard it.

"I wouldn't tell _you,_ of all people. Just in case you hadn't a clue, I don't owe you anything, and just because you talked to me once or twice does not mean that you can do it times again." He let his grim words sink into the silence that crept between them, and he took a few steps away, going back to simply turning away from Harry, hoping that ignoring him for long enough would get him to go away with him uncovering as little as possible of what he tried to hide within his eyes. He did sound cold in a way that hurt almost like a frostbite, but it wasn't nearly as spiteful as it used to be, it was a lot closer to being ever so painfully numb. This absolutely wasn't the Draco he met just yesterday's morning in the hallway, the boy whose face lit up at the sight of an apple.

 _He wasn't on good terms with draco._ That Harry had to remind himself of. But oh how it scared him, the thought of being shut out again, now that things grew to be about a dozen times worse.


	16. Fifteenth

"I know everything, a lot more than you think I do." The words burnt their way out of Harry's lips, heavy to the point that he felt like he needed breath breaks between words. In response, he only got a sarcastic sounding chuckle from Draco, who turned to face him once more, his face all so covered with a look of deep annoyance yet still Harry thought he could spot the slightest hint of pain somewhere in his eyes, as if a sensetive memory had been awoken.

"You and the whole bloody school." Draco rolled his eyes, and almost as if he knew what Harry could spot within his eyes, he began to avoid any kind of contact the green eyed boy attempted to start. Despite his voice trying to mask it, Draco failed to hide the tiny crack through his voice as it flooded back to his mind, the memory of that other morning when he walked through the hallways and whispers of random strangers drifted into his ears, the way their eyes wandered around him, and then again his face tightened at the thought of how everyone knew. He couldn't tell for certain if he was enraged or merely hurt. 

"No, that's not it. I hardly ever cared to know about that, but the gossip forced me to know, you can say." It wasn't entirely true, he did want to know, probably before everyone, he wanted to know the moment he caught sight of him in the hallway. He had always wanted to know, not out of mere curiosity but out of worry, though admitting it was a bit of a struggle. 

"It's something else," Harry swallowed, suddenly feeling ever so heavy as he tensed up once more, heavy enough that he felt his feet sinking in the floor beneath them. He looked away, his eyes running over the edges of the room, as though it was capable of giving him the words he lost to form his coming sentence. He wished that Draco, who looked at him with disturbed anticipation, could simply read the things he was willing to say through his eyes without him having to utter a word of it. 

"I was there, in the hallway after Dumbledore. I saw what he did to you, your father." He figured the words would be a lot easier to speak if he let them out in waves, with slow pauses of silence to make up his mind for the words that followed. He was right, it did help quite a lot. His voice even sounded almost as serene as he desired. "I know where these bruises came from."

His eyes fell on Draco, to find him standing still as if he had been frozen in time. His ghostly eyes that he fixed steadily on Harry wasted no time in blinking. If Harry didn't know any better, he'd definitely begin to think that the other boy had been cursed. His face lost all color and went pale as dead, letting the redness in his cheeks illuminate his whole dimmed face. His eyes resembled the surface of ice on a winter day, that very same color, with that very same muted glimmer and for a moment Harry thought he could see the same rifts on the surface of thin ice. They looked to be wide enough to contain a whole edgeless universe within, and they were only widening. But then the moment that followed, he was thrown back to his body. His once apart pair of lips came together in a growing frown, and he promptly broke the shared eyegaze Harry tried to maintain, preferring to look down at where his feet stood. And Harry watched as Draco slowly circled himself with his own arms, as if trying to hold himself together for a few drifting seconds. He watched a bit too carefully perhaps, carefully enough to notice the way his hands slid down to his hips and rested there, his fingers drilling through the skin where his bruises lied. 

"I full well deserved it." Even though Draco spoke in a tone loud enough for only himself to hear, Harry caught every word ever so clearly, it was hard for them to go unheard in such still silence. And at these few words, Harry had an unmatched urge, like thriving wildfire in him, born of both rage and ringing ache, to do a number of things. He wanted to run over to Draco and push him hard enough to knock him off his feet telling him to shut up. He wanted to go hug the boy tight enough for all his pain to ooze out of him. And he wanted to stand like a statue in that very spot until he drowns in his thoughts, until he can't feel his being anymore. 

"No you didn't." He couldn't put his finger on why it hurt him so much, the pain that poisoned Draco's words. He couldn't quite grasp how the gloom in his own voice was born from the mere sound of Draco's. But he knew, it was there, and by now he grew to be aware that it will always be there, whether he understood or not, the state of anguish in him that he seemed to share with Draco would still linger. He couldn't say he felt the way his feet took him, in extremely light and gentle steps towards the other boy, who stood rooted in his spot. On the contrary of all the times before, the closer he got, the more into that zone of safety he felt, he didn't feel his agitation wrecking his body until his knees would fight to keep him standing. 

Draco was enveloped with warmth that wasn't his own, a swift surge of ease flowed over him in a moment he didn't foresee. Slowly, very slowly, he felt loose, untied by his own being at the feeling of a pair of arms taking him in, pulling him closer until he could feel Harry's fully clothed chest against his bare one. He felt _warm_ , it was a feeling of warmth, not the heat Harry's figure emitted, but it was the embrace itself. In a drifting moment his mind was wiped clean, there was nothing that he thought of, nothing of that horror he was drowning in as he heard the gryffindor tell him all that he knew, as he watched the secrets he held so deep within his heart become known. For a moment there was nothing, and that was peace itself to him. Looking at his paint coated fingers, he didn't hug back, keeping his arms stretched behind Harry, who didn't seem to mind it one bit. It was only a moment before his precious peace faded, and diffidence crept to the back of his mind, ringing in his mind to push away as he hadn't the faintest idea how to deal with such affection, it wasn't like he was given this comfort often. Although this wasn't the first time he felt Harry's arms holding on to him as though he was falling off a cliff so high, and Draco was the edge he could only tighten his grip around, he still felt timid nonetheless. 

"No one ever does." The few words that Harry mouthed delicately caressed the skin of his neck, suddenly making him uneasy around the stomach that he felt inclined to push away, hoping that by doing so he might regain his breath that he lost. 

"You don't know that." His gruff voice didn't fail to draw Harry's attention to him, which he didn't quite wish to have. Harry quickly lifted his gaze up to fix it on Draco, almost too foolishly confident that his eyes would be locked with Draco's in a questioning shared gaze. But all that turned to dust when he looked up, his eyes big in the dim light of the room and glimmering with pain as it was coming to his mind that he had no way to tell Draco other than what he already had in mind. But his eyes met nothing, he looked up to find Draco's eyes wandering around, unsettled and clearly burning with overwhelming tides of salty tears on the edges of their fall. 

"I do. No matter how horrible you think you might be, you still don't deserve that. You need to remember that." He replied as he let go completely, letting the distance grow between the two of them and instantly feeling weird about that embrace, but not guilty.

Silence stretched between them, consuming them whole. Harry kept his eyes unmoving on Draco, watching him collect his breaths with a struggle. He was letting himself fall in whatever his mind contained, Harry could tell, he was giving up to himself against his own willingness, letting a more venerable side of him show as he lost the battle he started with himself. His frown was no longer shaping his face, instead there was a broken look on his face, his lips quivering ever so slightly and his eyes, wide and mellow, looked to be damp already, gleaming as layers of tears pooled up in his eyes. It quickly caught Harry's eyes, how one of his hands made its way to the other arm, hoping to be unseen as it sat on where his cuts were. As if subconsciously, his fingers scratched on the cuts in a gradually growing speed, until he looked at the crimson inlaying the tips of his fingers Only then did he seem to wake up. 


	17. Sixteen

It felt like raging fire was growing on his forearm, biting his skin and letting the pain that resulted spread through him. Only then did he seem to land back into reality. Looking down at his hand to see a thin layer of red topping his fingertips, blood finding a way into his fingernails, his body started to pick up heat like an atom bomb. To add more to his terror, he lifted his gaze to meet the pair of green eyes sparkling in the dim light, equally terrified at the sight. He could open his mouth and try to explain that he was hardly aware of what he did, but he knew it wouldn't give either of them much.

"Give me your arm." Harry ordered, not sounding as shaken as he looked, his voice was rather filled with a hint of anxious fury. He took Draco's arm as though he was in a rush of time. Draco couldn't afford to react, his body felt like rubber, given to Harry to move him around as he pleased.

"Honestly, don't you know how to cleanse a cut?" He sighed with a disapproving head shake as he gave a studying look to the lively wound before him, watching it begin to close on its own.

Gently Harry sat him on the tall stool as if he couldn't sit on his own, his hand still holding Draco's arm in the softest grip. Unable to think of a reaction he could possibly give, Draco let himself go with the flow of Harry's choice, watching him looking around while mumbling incoherent things under his breath like a dissatisfied mother, with a rather puzzled look on the face. He tried assuring himself that the gryffindor was truly concerned, as it obviously looked like it, but no matter how hard he insisted on himself to believe so, somewhere within him he felt as though he was obligated to do all, annoyed with what he had to do. He wished he could tell him to stop, and he wished he would actually stop if he told him to, for he knew certainly there wasn't anything capable of stopping him regardless of how he felt about the task.

"Accio first aid kit." At his words, a white box came floating towards the two of them, and within the next moment, it rested right by Harry's feet. Draco's stomach tingled the slightest, and he could only swallow, _why the muggle way?_

The raven haired boy knelt down, his head barely an inch higher than Draco's knees. His eyes followed every little movement of Harry's, ever so closely watching him work with the kit next to him. His head was suddenly overwhelmed with a memory he never thought he'd ever cherish so dearly. A memory of when he was little, perhaps around the age of five, running in their vast space of a garden with Blaise, he ran back into the manor with his cheeks all wet with streaming tears as he found no better way to deal with the burning pain on his knee. In his mind were only flashes of that view, his mother kneeling down before him, wearing the most assuring smile he had ever seen, radiating a certain warmth he couldn't quite sense at that age, and with a flick of her wand it all faded, and he was good as new again. As a young child, he never paid much thought to his father's loud complaints in the background, yelling at both him and his mother. But thinking about it now, especially after all that his father had done to him, he was taken by a surge of bitterness overflowing within him.

He whimpered as the cold liquid stung his freshly open cuts, in another case he would find joy in such pain but this was far too different. He thought he'd get used to it after a few wipes but oh how wrong he was, it still bit him regardless of how he prepared himself for it. Then in a split second, it started dying out, as if the fire on his arm was being put out, only then did he allow himself to open his eyes. The first thing his wandering eyes fell on was his arm, by then hardly anything overlaid the paleness of his skin except for the thin lines scattered around, even those were too well cleaned that they were hardly visible.

"Alright, just the bandaging now." Harry piled the blood stained tissues by the kit box, and after some light searching in the kit, he pulled out a roll of yellowish cloth.

Draco couldn't help but tumble over the curiosity that engulfed his mind as he observed the boy working, and he took advantage of the fact that he could hardly spot the pair of green eyes meeting his. He pondered about the thoughts that roamed that messy haired head, if there was anything at all. He couldn't get any close to imagining what someone like him would have his head full of. It hit him that he scarcely knew anything about Harry, other than what showed on the surface, and that thought somehow made his stomach twist. _He had always wanted to know, but what about now?_

"Why are you doing this, helping me and all? Haven't I hurt you and your friends quite enough?" He questioned despite everything in him telling him not to. The silence that took them sat uncomfortably heavy on Draco's chest to the point that he felt, if he had to, he'd scream at the top of his lungs if it was what it took to kill that silence. He found nothing better to say than to ask the question that paid his mind a visit the day Harry held him by the waist out of that fight, and it lingered whenever he was around. Something within him knew that in no way possible Harry merely wanted to help out of the goodness of his heart, he found it hard to believe that there wasn't more to it. Of course, it wasn't beyond imagination that The Golden Boy would help anyone in need only driven by the urge to, but Draco knew he wasn't someone worthy of Harry's kindness, he after all gave him and his friends quite the trouble all through their years in Hogwarts.

He didn't know what he envisioned to get in response, but most certainly it wasn't anything near the heartfelt chuckle that found its way out of Harry's lips when Draco's voice came to be heard. Struck by the unplanned shift in the atmosphere, Draco could only afford looking at him with his eyebrows curved so high up. As soothing and felicitous as the sight was, Draco still felt slightly uncomfortable in a certain way,

"No, not _hurt_ us, more like, annoyed us." His beam only grew wider that it almost touched his ears, trying to hold in a tiny laugh as he watched Draco's face glowing red as though he had just painted it himself. Harry's statement worked like a punch right into Draco's ribs. His eyes traveled up to the ceiling and he bit his lips so hard, trying to fight away the sudden urge to comment about the weather. Surely, it was nice to know that he was wrong all along, he didn't cause anyone any deal of pain in the end, which gave him one thing less to worry about, yet still it had its own way of disappointing him, as it turned out he wasn't the evil good-for-nothing arse he thought he was.

"Hermione _was_ hurt though, when you first called her mudblood." Harry added with the tiniest disturbance in his voice as he watchfully wrapped the bandage around Draco's arm. After a few rolls and Draco watching very closely as if trying to learn, Harry made sure it was wrapped around the cuts firmly enough, and with a few last touches, he let go of Draco's arm after it rested in his hand for quite some time, setting it on Draco's leg, free for him to observe.

"We managed to tell her that you're just an arrogant swine, which you may or may not have been." After being done with his work, the gryffindor sat on the floor facing towards Draco, hugging his knees closer to his chest. Chuckles smoothly slid through his last few words, and Draco could only wonder how he got the confidence to talk to him with such ease, something he truly wished he had.

"Yeah well, that goes in my list of regrets." The dimness in Draco's voice wiped the smile off Harry's face entirely, leaving him with nothing but a pair of curious eyes. Draco preferred to keep his eyes glued to his hands as he restlessly kept toying with his ring. Hermione wasn't the only one he so poorly insulted, but at this moment she was what reminded him of the awful image of his father he was trying to become. It felt as if he was living the moments of when he humiliated almost everyone he passed by, and it was like he could see their inflamed gazes all over again, all at once. He wished to be freed from his body, to slowly fade into nothingness. He _loathed_ the feeling that crept through him, the feeling of being stuck in his being, which to him was merely a filthy tightening box. He was both proud and crestfallen, he after all didn't really succeed in reaching his father's level, that's why he was never satisfied with him, yet still what he had done wasn't little to be overlooked.

"I do understand how hard it must be for you, right now, having to pretend to stand me. Merlin, you must be disgusted. I wouldn't blame you, it is exceptionally revolting to have me around, even as myself." He felt pathetic as his words crumbled out of him, revealing that he had reached the point where he breaks once again, a forceful urge to rupture in tears was approaching like a storm.

"No, enough of that." Harry's stern and serious sounding voice did the job of bringing Draco's full attention to him. "Whoever you were, or were trying to be isn't you now. You have changed, to the better, the fact that you're acknowledging how awful you had been proves it. Perhaps I was the first notice the utter change in you, if it weren't for your familiar outside looks, I wouldn't have recognized you."

Their eyes were locked together, and it felt as though nothing in this whole wide world could possibly break that connection. Draco's eyes reminded Harry of a toddler's, twinkling with a kind of hope Harry could only describe as agonizing. Draco was torn between the two things clashing up in his head, lost in what to believe. Somewhere within the folds of his mind, he was one bit too sure Harry was only attempting to comfort him, even if that meant denying evident truth. Somewhere in his mind, he knew he can't change what he once was, people don't change that easily, it was a matter of time before he returns to hurting anyone in sight because he _is_ hurt. But there was some truth to Harry's statement, he did acknowledge his insufferable attitude, and guilt ate him up every waking moment of every day for it.

"Does this mean we can start clean?" Draco let himself sink in a moment or two of silence to give that question a good thought in his head before asking. He wasn't certain if he was truthfully ready, building such friendship on unsettled grounds, in fact he wasn't sure if he had any ability to put trust in anyone anymore. But he also couldn't deny how badly he was aching to have someone, someone who had yet to hurt him, and Harry seemed to be a heaven sent answer for his wishes, so what's the worst thing to potentially happen if he gave Harry a try for some time? He had nothing to lose, and a lot to gain.


	18. Seventeen

He could swear he'd never felt as light as he did when he watched a slim smile drawing its way on Harry's face, followed by slight nod. The weight of the few moments spent in waiting was lifted off him, but it wasn't replaced with the relief he was expecting to feel. He felt awkward to a fault, he could say it found a way into his breaths and he could only think of a single thing: _what now?_

However, he couldn't deny it, he felt the happiness his eleven year old self would've felt.

"Didn't know you had such talent." After an everlasting pause, Harry commented, obviously as hesitantly eager to break the silence as Draco. Draco only shook his head with a heavy chuckle.

"Who knew anything about me anyway?" He faced away. The thought of how everyone viewed him as a completely different person from who he really was always gave him a certain sort of pain, one that made him struggle to look at the mirror without loathing the image looking back at him, especially as of recent. He himself was seeing himself as that popular loathsome image of him.

"Right." Harry did notice the negative change in Draco as soon as he spoke, knowing that he had brought back a thought Draco had put effort into forgetting. "But hey, every day is a new day. There's always a chance for change."

No, every day is terrifyingly the same, one hell in an unbreakable loop, and it only gets worse if it ever changes. Draco thought. Though, he did appreciate the optimism.

"I was rather fascinated by one of the paintings, the first one I laid eyes on. The one with the fountain and all." Draco couldn't help but wonder if the boy before him had always been this cheerful, if his voice had always held that ludic surge. His hands took no rest, moving around in the air as if trying to explain, pointing to one of the paintings.

"Oh yeah, that one. This one is in the backyard of the manor, I'd say it is the most neglected one. I like to call her Eira, which means snow - this is ridiculous, I know, but that's because she was covered in snow when I realized how much I admired her. I think it's safe to say that she's the only one who would have a judgment-free ear to listen."

It had been a while, ages, since the last time he spoke with such enthusiasm, if he had ever sensed liveliness in his voice, but for a reason he did not know, he felt easeful enough to talk. What was it about Harry that made him unravel himself each and every time? How could he attract things out of him just by silently staring? Was it the look in his eye, impossibly gentle, declaring safety for him to speak? Or was it simply his presence? Draco could never tell.

"What about the one you're working on right now?" He pointed to the canvas on the stand, left abandoned.

It was a figure, a pair of arms wrapped around darkness, the head resting on the shoulder of a silhouette. Most of it had yet to be covered with paint, only an outline drawn with a pencil. And just like the one Harry had noticed, this one was all in dark tones, holding the same sense of sadness. But just like the one before, Harry found a rather strange pleasure in that melancholy.

"Oh, er, just a random thought you can say. These little flickers come into your mind, especially at night and you want to hold on to them as tight as you can before the light of day wipes them away and they're nowhere to be found."

Talking about all that spread glimpses of joy all around him, faint and hardly felt, but it was the best he had felt through these recent days. He could tell, Harry was barely following, he clearly didn't have such experience. Yet still, the look on his face, brightening as he watched Draco slowly drift into his talk, it showed interest, telling the blond that although Harry didn't exactly have a clue, he still relished the chat itself.

"Now, enough about me. Let me get to _know_ you."

There was no way for them to tell that a whole full hour had glided by like a breeze. There wasn't a way to tell what time it was, and to admit it, they truly didn't a have a spare thought to waste on time. Throughout that hour, Draco had learned that Harry's whole life revolved around quidditch, not only from the way he talked about it like it was the source of all passion in the world, but also, he could see it in the way his eyes widened with glimmers like shooting stars when he mentioned the golden snitch in his hands, the way his lips twitched in a smile and tried to hide it when he brought up that one match with hufflepuff.

They talked, and talked until the air around them felt light, every shred of mistrust from the past five years had melted into their occasional giggles. They discussed music, Draco now had an idea that Harry preferred _pop,_ without having the faintest clue what that was. _Some_ _muggle kind of music_ , Harry had explained. Internally, Draco cringed at the mere thought of muggle music, even though he hadn't listened to any of it. He did _not_ expect Harry to be into classical symphonies anyway. They talked about books, but exactly as Draco had anticipated, Harry was solely fully interested in _quidditch through the ages,_ nothing else seemed to catch his interest as much.

Silence gently fell over them again. This time, it was accompanied by a rather new hint of repose, something so smooth and so welcoming. Draco had almost never felt such thing, and it was safe to say that it was a rare feeling to Harry as well. Their minds completely drifted away, far into that state of peace that the events of this night had slipped their memories.

"Does he do that often?" Harry questioned, throwing himself back into the distress of a bit more than an hour ago as his eyes scanned Draco's torso, running over the purple stains again. He got a perplexed look back from the blond, which he fixed with a quick gesture of his finger towards the bruises. "I'm sorry."

Falling harshly right back into that thought, Draco couldn't give a response other than silence, which to Harry signaled a yes. He was heavy again, and it showed through everything in him. His eyes darted towards the floor, and every breath he took seemed to burn its way in.

"No, it never went this far. He just lost it the other day, this happens sometimes." He straightened himself in his position. "If you kindly don't mind, I'd appreciate it if we didn't talk about this matter again."

"Of course. Absolutely." After the loss of peace, the familiar awkwardness was the only thing dominating the quietness again, Harry couldn't help but blame himself for it.

"It's late, you need to be in bed." Draco took a short journey to where his shirt lied unnoticed, pouring his whole attention on picking up the shirt from the ground in a snail's pace in order to avoid further contact with Harry.

"Hey, listen, I'm sorry. But the thing is, I'm actually worried, I've seen what everything has done to you, and I want you to promise me something," Harry made sure that his steps made no heard sound as he made his way closer to Draco, even though his legs got solidified as if his bones had turned to stone. And for a moment he stopped, midway, watching as the blond let the plain white shirt hang loose on his shoulders. It still remained unbuttoned, wide open revealing his bruised front. _They both were white, only in different shades._ He thought.

"Promise me that you'll at least try not to cut again, please."

Draco offered a tiny nod of his head, which Harry could hardly catch sight of, and wore a bleary smile, though it was but a small curve of his lip, it was the best he could bestow. Nothing of that made Harry feel any single bit better.

"If you need to talk, or anything really, I'll always be there, you know." He set his hand down on Draco's now clothed shoulder, giving it a feeble pat, tinted with hesitation like the one gained by approaching an open wound.

"Thank you. But for now, we should really be in bed." It was strange, he didn't have a fitting reply, as he had never been told such thing. He chose to cling to the moments of this night when he felt happiest, when everything was shut away in the back of his head and there was nothing to conjure it back, hoping that the thought of the good things will invade the place where the bad took over, and so he could feel that lightness in his system all over again just by thinking of those good moments he collected. Harry's toothless smile at the end gave everything a desired turn.

"Well then, good night. See you tomorrow at breakfast? Please do show up." On his way out, Harry turned back for a last glance. His hand was in the air, and he waved with a sheepish smile before completely focusing on finding his way out. On what earth did Harry ever want to see Draco?

The night was too good to be true, Draco was sure he'd soon wake up sweating in his bed.

Once Harry was out of sight, Draco was surrounded by the silence of moving air around him again. He couldn't imagine how things would be like in the coming days, now that everything had drastically changed. But he knew one thing for certain, he had no ability to fulfill the single thing Harry asked of him, for no matter how good Harry's company would be to him, how eased he'd feel whenever the gryffindor is around, it wouldn't provide the same effect the blistering cuts would leave behind. The comfort wouldn't last as long as the physical lightness after cutting. He wished it was enough, he wished that slowly over time, he wouldn't need to cut. But in the meantime, he still needed it.

He was too tired to get up, the thought of having to try to find his way in the darkened hallways itself exhausted him, yet still he knew, once his head is rested on the pillow, his stiff eyes would stay open, and sleep would fly from his eyes like dust.


	19. Eighteen

As sleep slowly vanished from his mind, Draco began to wonder if it was all a dream. He was almost too sure that he fell asleep by accident when he was trying to gather up the will and energy to go to the room of requirement to finish his painting, and as it was his last thought before sleep took him, it came into his dream. It was lovely, comforting to have someone to talk to, but it didn't surprise him to wake up from it, nor did it upset him. And it was terrifying, quite frankly, if Harry actually knew what he knew in the dream. But apart from all, it felt pathetic in a way to Draco as he gave it a thought, of all people, it was none other than Potter in his dream.

A roommate of his was still fast asleep, it didn't seem to be that early, judging by the faint chatter just outside the door. A perfect time to wake up for any other student, not too early and he still had time to get ready and have proper breakfast, time wasn't the matter in his case. He lied still, his body unable to afford a blink of his eyes as he blankly gazed upon the ceiling. Exhaustion had already found a way into him, as if the mere thought of having to wake up and pretend to be living a perfectly flawless life drained him. He didn't want to go about pretending to be living a perfectly flawless life, he didn't even feel the will in him to live a perfectly flawless life.

Glancing over his arm, he saw the yellowing bandage wrapping up his arm, informing him that quite strangely, it wasn't a dream. It still didn't feel real to him, somewhere in his mind he refused to believe it. After years of rivalry, it was hard to imagine the two of them in a conversation that didn't involve insulting each other.

He let out a sigh, remembering Harry's wish to to see him at breakfast. In more ways than one, he hoped to find a good excuse not to go. He was starting to regret what he started, thinking that he had managed to throw himself in a groundless pit. It takes effort to build a safe ground for the two of them, the effort which he didn't have a bit of, and he knew for a fact that Harry will gladly put in as much effort as humanly possible, which was yet another reason for him to regret it, knowing that he would most likely leave Harry to do all the work he's too uninvested to do. On the other hand, he hoped to find any possible way not to see Harry for he was ashamed of what the boy got to know last night, embarrassed of the moments when he was nothing but pathetic without bothering to hide it. He was scared of what Harry thought of him, especially after the previous night, and to him avoiding Harry seemed to be the most ideal option.

His eyes ran over the hall, scanning the gryfinndor table specifically in multiple rounds, but all he could find was an empty spot. Harry was late, or too early. The thought of asking Ron and Hermione clicked in his mind, but he brushed it off his mind just as soon as it came, imagining their disturbed reaction.

In disappointment, he headed to the slytherin table, although up in his mind he was willing to leave back to his dorm. He found his usual seat at the far end of the table taken by a group of chatting slytherins. So, with annoyance growing in him, he studied the table in search of a lonely spot where he can sit all by himself. He was lucky enough to watch Crabbe and Goyle walking away, leaving his old spot vacant for him.

About half an hour of him heavily eyeing the plate in front of him and aimlessly twisting the fork in his hand had passed. The only thing that caused him to lift his gaze up from his dull plate was Hermione muttering " _where have you been_?" in an anxious tone of voice. His eyes met the back of the raven haired boy, sitting down beside Ron. "I overslept." He sounded breathless as he filled his plate with whatever his eyes fell on. "Why didn't you wake me up?"

"Mate, I did, many times actually, but you were lifeless." Draco was listening to their conversation closely enough to hear the chuckle coating Ron's voice as he spoke.

Draco watched as Harry shoved a spoonful of food in his mouth, eating as quickly as he could since it was the last few minutes of breakfast. His eyes were unsettled, roaming back and forth around the hall, until they fell on Draco, who in return struggled to move his eyes away from the boy. Harry's face lit up with a smile of satisfaction, which he tried to hide as he got a questioning look from Hermione. Draco's cheeks gave an embarrassingly bright shade of pink.

As breakfast was over, the Great Hall was gradually getting quiet. Only a few gryfinndors were left including Harry, and they formed a little group around the table to talk about what seemed like an important matter. Hermione had left, leaving only Ron and Ginny with Harry.

Draco was trying to rewind his schedule in his mind, in attempts to remember what class he had coming. He thought since he was already up early enough, and had the closest possible thing to breakfast, might as well use the day for the best. He wasn't sure of how capable he was of actually living through the day, but he decided to give it a try anyway.

"Good morning!" Harry's cheerful and sudden greeting snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up, trying to wear his best smile in order to match Harry's widening grin. "How did you sleep last night?"

"Well enough, I can say." Draco replied with a little nod. He could hardly remember anything about his blank sleep the night before, other than the fact that it was blank, which was an improvement to an extent. "What about you?"

"Slept like dead." Harry let out an airy chuckle, his beam wide enough to touch his ears. It was something about Harry's pleasantly messy appearance, from the nest of hair on top of his head, and his uncontrollably elated gaze, to his loosely buttoned shirt and sloppily put together school uniform that shot Draco with an easing sensation of warmth, taking his mind off to a state of peace, he failed to do so on his own. Selfishly, he could watch Harry babel about whatever all day just so that he can have his mind far in that state of peace.

"I was meaning to ask, how's your arm?" He subtly pointed to Draco's left arm. The atmosphere around them changed once Harry's smile faded, giving away to a more concerned look to show on his face.

"It's alright, I guess." Draco fidgeted with his ring, in attempts to stop himself from touching the spot of the cuts. Now that he could no longer see Harry's face shining with that smile, he was feeling heavy, especially after the topic of the cuts was brought up, bringing back the certain things of last night that he was aiming to forget. If it weren't for the bandage pressing against his skin, he wouldn't feel the cuts, and that had a way of bothering him, he wanted to feel them, he wanted to have them hurting when he needed them to.

"Anyways, I have quidditch practice now, I was thinking you might wanna come with. What do you think?" Harry sensed the undesired change in Draco, seeing his face beginning to tighten slowly and his fingers restlessly moving.

"Uh, yeah, why not." Draco was still rolling the idea around in his mind when he answered, the words escaping his lips without him having the slightest bit of control over them. It felt wrong for reasons unknown to him, a voice echoing in his head was insisting he rejects Harry's offer, as he was almost too sure the gryfinndors didn't want the sight of him anywhere near them. He knew that by going with Harry, he earned himself a troublesome encounter, but he somehow didn't mind it. He couldn't help but accept, knowing the quidditch was worth the whole world to Harry after their chat from last night. He knew it meant something to him, their newly found friendship, something that he cherished enough to ask Draco to join him in his favorite time of the week.

"Brilliant!" The joy that adorned Harry's face as he heard Draco's response was unmatched. A smile engraved itself on his face, the widest Draco had ever seen, with his eyebrows curved all the way up. Draco couldn't fight away the smile that began to grow on his face at the view of Harry's face. "See you in ten."

And with that, Harry rushed out of the hall, being the last of the remaining gryfinndor group to do so. Draco had spare ten minutes, long ten minutes of doing absolutely nothing, which he planned to use in taking a slow, thoughtful stroll to the field. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hullo whoever reading this, so this might be the one of the last or the actual last chapter before I put this book on hold, school is starting soon for me and it's my senior year, so I won't have time to write, so yeah, just letting you know.


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